Bread and the Circus

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

While the room was dimly-lit, it didn’t feel gloomy.  Actually, the lowered light level seemed to have a generally calming effect on the people in the room.  This was just as well, since the work in which they were engaged was perhaps the most stressful job in the Pan-Galactic Republic: planning out the events of the new season of the Arena.

“Those two,” the Ringmaster said in his sonorous baritone, pointing to a screen over the shoulder of one of the technicians.  “The mated Cobldp pair.  Make arrangements to have them sent planetside together.  Also place them along one of the coasts.  I think the…”

“The Ragged Edge,” supplied the Arena Master, bulbous-looking forearms crossed across his bare, glistening black chest; after all, the Foselle seldom ever bothered with more clothing than was absolutely required.

“The Ragged Edge sounds perfect,” the Ringmaster continued without missing a beat, data flashing visibly on the surfaces of his eyes as he called up all the information he needed to make informed decisions.  “Plenty of monsters all over, and lots of opportunities for them to rack up points.  And there’s nothing the more bloodthirsty members of the audience enjoy more than seeing a Cobldp in the throes of a full frenzy.”

“Not to mention how easy it’ll be to play them up as protagonists,” the Arena Master added with a light clicking noise in his throat, his species’ equivalent of a chuckle.  “After all, they’re here to give their offspring a head start in life.”

“All the elements of fine drama,” agreed the Ringmaster.

At the long table behind the massive array of computer banks and glowing screens, Birdcry felt horribly out of place.  Before her, the Ringmaster did his work, using the technicians at the controls like additional limbs to enact his will, and the Arena Master as a second brain and sounding board for ideas.  Somewhere else, sometimes visible on the many screens, the Beast Master and the Show Master did their work as an extension of the will of the control center, making final preparations for the opening of the Arena to contestants once again, and the new season of entertainment about to start everywhere all across the vast reaches of the Republic’s governed space.  Around her at the long table, Birdsong was surrounded by professionals, politicians and business magnates and other people of high office and great importance.  None of them seemed uncomfortable at all the talk of violence and death and…worse things.  None of them batted an eye no matter how awful the things the Ringmaster might propose.  They simply watched with an air of contentment, as though all were right in the universe.  Didn’t they understand?  People were about to die!

As a Liptani, Birdcry was used to the caring, loving arms of her tribe-family, to caring about others at least as much as she cared for herself.  Her homeworld, the home from which her people had originated, was a deadly one, more than any world so far discovered to have sapient life, and so it came as a surprise to most to discover how gentle and sweet-natured the Liptani were.  To them, though, such kindness made sense: when your entire world was out to kill you, surely life at home should be an opportunity for peace.  Their gentle natures, as well as the overwhelming hostility of their homeworld, had caused the Liptani to be adopted by some of the greatest families of the Pan-Galactic Republic, accepted wholesale into high society, and allowed to finally escape from the world that had very nearly made them go extinct before their fortuitous discovery by advanced scouts of the Survey Service.  Now they were the most recent addition to the sapient people accepted by the PGR as citizens, and perhaps one of the most universally beloved.

Birdcry herself had been adopted into the family of the L’Drey politician and businessbeing without compare, Scintillant Camor.  Like far too many of her people, she’d been orphaned by the ravages of her homeworld, and when the charming, vulpine-like humanoid had offered her a place in his house, as the surrogate youngest sister to his three sons, and an opportunity to fill the emotional void left by the recent death of his wife, she had naturally accepted.  After all, Scintillant (her father, as she was already starting to think of him) needed her, and so did her new brothers, and she needed them just as badly, each of them leaning on the others for support in a universe that could be so cold and cruel.

If only her dear father’s business didn’t have to deal with this…this…event known as the Circus!

Scintillant Camor, like most of the truly wealthy in the PGR, was closely involved in the workings of the Circus.  After all, the entertainment produced by the Circus was what kept the masses of vote-selling citizens happy, content, and most importantly willing to keep selling their votes to people like him, keeping him on the top of the heap.  Believing that his new daughter could use some experience in all aspects of the family business, Scintillant had insisted that Birdcry attend one of the planning meetings for the Arena, the most popular event produced by the Circus, so that she could see what entertainment in the PGR was all about.

Birdcry couldn’t have been more horrified!

“Those two,” the Ringmaster suddenly declared, pointing to a screen showing a live feed from the interior of the Circus’ cafeteria, where those who were about to become contestants were getting their last hot meal before they were sent down to the surface of the Arena’s artificial world.  “Pan in close.”

Looking past the Ringmaster and the Arena Master as they huddled close, Birdcry blinked at what now dominated the screen.  It was a pair of Humans, a race that hadn’t been as lucky as the Liptani: their empire had collapsed from financial strain within the last decade, forcing them to join the Pan-Galactic Republic on unfavorable terms, leaving far too many of their number destitute and desperate.  A group of other contestants, veterans by the look of them, had closed in on one member of the pair, a male with pale hair and skin and a slender build.  There wasn’t any audio feed, so Birdcry couldn’t hear what was being said, but she could guess, based on what she’d seen in some entertainment videos her father had shown her: the other contestants were bullies, and they were being mean to the boy on the screen.

Then, as Birdcry watched, the girl who’d been sitting opposite the boy rounded the table, sticking her face as close to the towering brute who was leading the bullies as their disparate heights allowed.  The situation looked tense, and Birdcry lifted a hand to her muzzle in worry.

“They’re perfect,” declared the Ringmaster with a satisfied nod, and the artful billow and swell of his coattails obscured Birdcry’s view of how the rest of the scene played out when he turned to the Arena Master, who was already tapping on a datapad with his stubby fingers.

“Assigned together,” the Foselle said with a nod.  “Scratch Plains?”

“An ideal location,” the Ringmaster agreed with an enthusiastic nod.  “Surrounded on all sides by terrible monsters, forced to rely on each other to survive even a single day, and with the mystery of several dungeons right there to tempt and destroy them in ways terrible and arcane.  Perfect!”  Then the Ringmaster paused, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.  “Have the first scheduled pickup for break and recovery skip those two.  Call it a glitch in our scheduling systems.”

“Wait!” exclaimed Birdcry, having finally heard too much to be endured.  “You can’t do that!”

Rather than replying to this outburst, the Ringmaster only glanced at Birdcry, arching a painted eyebrow, before he turned back to the many viewscreens, already starting that incessant patter that was a natural part of his speech, as though he were a snake oil salesbeing performing before a crowd of rubes.

“Mostly random chance for the rest…ah, that one has some promise.  Wasn’t he the one that wrote those books about the thing and the stuff?  I thought they were fairly good.”

“Nobody would buy his books unless he went into the Arena,” answered the Arena Master with a shrug.  “Same old story in entertainment today: you gotta be willing to bleed for the art.”

“Have him assigned to…”

“You don’t understand,” Birdsong interrupted, actually getting out of her seat as righteous indignation filled her voice.  “That will leave them out in a killing zone for over twenty days!  They won’t stand a chance!”

“Of course,” the Ringmaster replied with an air of surprise on his face, his painted eyebrows raising as he glanced at the young Liptani.

“Twenty-two planetary days, plus some hours, actually,” the Arena Master helpfully added.  “What about Knife Ridge?  Great place for authors, I think; not likely to be bothered much by other contestants up there, so plenty of time to think.  Well, between the monster attacks and regular blizzards, anyway.”

“Excellent,” agreed the Ringmaster, once again turning his focus back to his job.  “I’m not seeing any immediate chemistry in most of the rest of these…though those three might fit the bill for a love triangle, with just a little nudging in the right direction…”

“But they’re just children!” Birdsong almost screamed.  “How can you be so cruel?  Aren’t you any better than the monsters out in your Arena?”

Suddenly, the Ringmaster’s back stiffened, and he held out a hand.  Immediately, all the noise and bustle of the many technicians at their workstations came to a complete halt.  Drawing in a long, deep breath, the tall, angular human who was the Ringmaster turned, and then walked over to Birdsong.  Even with her standing at her highest height, she barely came up to his waist.  All the same, she glared up at him, determined not to be intimidated, even if being this close let her see the tiny seams in his facial makeup, the places where he’d had his flesh replaced with cybernetics, and the brief flashes of light across his eyes when he received information feeds from the rest of the Circus’ many computer systems.

“Your father has been kind to me on many occasions,” said the Ringmaster, his voice finally losing its brassy quality, his face no longer showing its eager showbeing’s cheer.  “And I believe you are a decent person.  Because of these reasons, I am going to take time out from one of the most hectic parts of this entire operation, wasting countless gobs of money in the process, to explain to you what I do, and why I do it.

“First of all,” he continued, his face reminding Birdcry so much of a skinny, sad clown, “I’m not a monster: I just play the part.  I’m paid to be the villain of the Circus, the face of success, but also of death and failure.  I don’t even sleep anymore: I had that feature taken out during the last rewiring I had to tweak my optics.  It was the only way to stop the nightmares.

“Those two children, as you call them,” he gestured toward the viewscreen where the pair could be seen eating alongside another contestant, this one a L’Drey like Birdcry’s surrogate father, the bullies from before now gone from view, “are here because they want to be here.  They’ve been given many opportunities to leave, and shown all the reasons why they shouldn’t come here, and yet here they are, and I am going to make them suffer, because it’s what they want me to do to them.  They both come from families on the edge of economic collapse, and they both have members of their families listed as their beneficiaries.  I’ve reviewed the video feed of them talking on the flight over, and they have a natural chemistry.  Neither of them expect to survive the Arena, and both of them are here for one purpose: to make as much money as they can for their families before they die.

“Tragic heroes,” the Ringmaster concluded.  “And they’re obviously friends, not lovers, so I don’t have to worry about any romantic subplots getting in the way of the real drama.  That drama is their self-sacrifice, wading into the depths of Hell for the sake of their dearest loved ones.  The longer they’re in the field, the more opportunities they’ll have to earn the points that will convert directly to cash.  The more danger they face, the more popular they’ll become to audiences all over the Republic.  I can see already that they have courage and ingenuity, so I think they’ll last a long time, enough that most of the audience might think that they’ll survive.  And then they’ll be missed by the pickup, and the public outcry will be immense.

“I expect these two to make some of the most popular viewing we’ve had in years,” the strange mechanical clown said with a slight smile.  “And as for their families?  They’ll have money from the sales of video rights, offers from employers, and outright donations from various interested parties from all across the Republic.  I and my people will take a slight dip in popularity for dooming such beloved characters, but what I do is hardly unexpected, and the dip is not likely to last.  But in exchange for a temporary loss of ratings – money right out of my own pocket, you understand – I provide these two young people with exactly what they wanted from me: a better life for their loved ones, at the cost of their own lives.”

“And it’s not like they’re guaranteed to bite it out there,” the Arena Master added as his boss finished.  “Seriously, when your number’s up, it’s up, but if it’s not, then there’s no telling what might happen.  Sure, we’re tweaking the system a little up here, but there’s nothing certain once you hit the Arena.  Up here, we can maybe shift things up to four percent, one way or the other.  Mostly we just do our best to stick our contestants where they get a chance to show off their best side for the cameras, and leave the rest up to fate and chance.”

“When your number is up, it’s up,” the Ringmaster echoed the words of his friend.  “All we can do in the meantime is try to make the most of what time we are allotted.”  He turned back to the screens, a nearly beatific smile returning to his face.  “And their time left will be glorious!”

Gaping in horror, Birdcry slumped back into her chair.  This…this madman, this man-monster…he really believed he was doing those children a favor!

The worst part of all, however, was an undeniable truth that wiggled its way to the fore of Birdcry’s consciousness: he was probably right.

“Are there any more objections, dear Miss Camor?” asked the Ringmaster, turning his head slightly, the dim lighting of the room gleaming off his ghostly greasepainted face.

“No more objections,” said Birdcry, looking down at her small, furry hands as she folded them on her lap.  It was the only way she could keep them from trembling.