Chapter 13 – The Show Must Go On

There was a time when the sight of people on trapezes would send a jolt of anticipation through the nerves. Similarly, the sensation of spinning vision as one waited for the extended hand, the moment when trust superseded fear – it opened itself up to glory as the cheers celebrate the passing of uncertainty.

Not only the audience, but the performer as well, found thrill in displays of danger and finesse. But that all began to change when such dangers could be amended.

Mankind’s greatest success had been defying gravity. Yet, manned vehicles and powered propulsion had done little to lessen the inherent fear of heights. It was not until man could feel the freedom and control through the nerves in his spine did he truly conquer verticality.

Jester had heard all the stories from his parents, of them growing up in an age where self-flight had just become prominent. But in their eyes, it was not a wonderous occasion. In fact, it was the opposite.

“What are we going to do? The crowds are growing thin. There’s no show if there’s no excitement anymore…”

“We do what we can. Generations of entertainers have survived the changing of times. We just have to be flexible. Re-invent the wheel, find new thrills, chase new fancies…”

In the back of a traveling circus tent, a young Jester Soleil had recently learned that flying through the air had become ‘no big deal’. Those that acquired wings could now sail the skies, many times higher than the tent ceiling. It turned the danger of falling into mere horseplay.

The convenience of flight undermined the training of those that didn’t have it. The years of effort and pride built up from dominating up high had been dashed quickly. His parents knew that there would no longer be a future in circus performances. And for the boy who had trained all his childhood in preparation to take up the reins, it felt like a negation of his reason of being.

“I’ll keep doing it! Even if people are able to fly easily, that’s not the same as being able to entertain!”

The young Jester’s enthusiasm brought a bit of spark back to his parents’ faces. They couldn’t give up just yet. They would capitalize on the new trend somehow.

Years later, Jester approached the center ring with the spotlights upon him. He spread his wings and gave the crowd a hearty wave, like a sportsman ready to perform. With a starting dash, he hopped onto a trampoline that took him sailing through the air toward a ring of fire.

Tucking himself small by twisting like a corkscrew, he passed through it without a single feather burnt. Gliding masterfully, he zipped back and forth, slipping through more rings of fire, jaws of nails opening and closing, and spinning blades with little room to spare.

A single mistake would clip his wings, sending him spiraling into the certain doom of fire and sharps. If aerial control negated the danger of height, then he would instead fill the airspace with clear and obvious dangers. He would use the wings that other entertainers shunned to develop his own style of performance.

Landing on the platform at the end, Jester gave the perfect dismount after an obstacle course of flight hell. But rather than the standing ovation it deserved, scattered claps echoed in the empty tent.

He looked around, disappointed that the audience was small yet again. Despite his best efforts, the entertainment value of circustry had plummeted to nothing in a mere three decades. Now, he was in his mid-30s, the last of his kind as his competitors fell one by one around him.

Flight-based feats of danger had drawn crowds for a time, but it only held enough of a passing fancy as much as it unnerved them to the fallacies of using wings. An instinct naturally developed in Flyers to avoid such dangers like a grounded person would avoid walking into a chamber of broken glass.

With flight gradually becoming commonplace, the act of it became regulated like motorized vehicles. As a result, daredevil actions involving it became frowned upon by all but the most fervent of admirers.

It was another day of wasted effort that led to a bank account in the red. Jester knew that he would have to give up on it someday.

“Ah, my balloon!”

Jester looked up to spot a red one floating far up in the air, carried away by the currents between buildings. He looked down to see a crying child, his parents nowhere to be found to help retrieve it. His feet froze for a moment, a lack of motivation weighing him down.

But then, a red blur flew past him and made a beeline to the balloon. It circled back and brought the balloon back to the eagerly waiting child. Jester saw a teenage boy with red hair and all smiles. He had an enthusiasm bursting from every fiber of his being, a pure love of being in the moment. Just as that feeling sunk in, the teenager turned to him with a package extended.

“Delivery for you, Sir!”

After a quick signature, the teenager vaulted up into the air, doing an aerial flip before zooming somewhere nearby, dropping off small bits of mail from his postal bag. He was like a hummingbird visiting a grove of flowers, finding a new fancy with each one.

Jester would find himself staring at times over the next few days at the new mail carrier, wondering how such a menial task could seem so fun to him. And on the very last day of his tour in Stratos, he couldn’t help but ask him when he dropped by.

“Don’t you get bored, doing such simple actions over and over?”

The teenager stopped, giving him a strange look.

“Is it the same?” He pulled out a letter. “Maybe it does when you see a stack of them all together, but when I meet the person gratefully accepting it, I can’t help but think each one is unique.”

A finger pointed to the names on the ‘from’ and ‘to’ lines.

“Even in an age where sending messages is a simple click of a button, people still yearn for that personal interaction between family, between friends, and to whoever else they want to connect with. And being handed that responsibility to make sure it gets there is hardly something I find boring.”

A hand came forward for a greeting.

“The name’s Arwain Riot. Pleased to meet you. I’m glad to say that I’ve seen one of your performances, Mr. Jester Soleil, and they were quite the number. I’ve tried to practice the way you move during my runs, but sadly, I keep coming out worse for the wear.”

Jester gladly shook his hand, a genuine smile surfacing for the first time in a while.

“A pleasure to hear praise from my audience. But sadly, it seems like I may have to find something else suitable for me in the future. A performance can only last for as long as smiles like yours grace my stage.”

“Hmm? Then, why not lend me a hand? I’m planning to start up my own company soon for deliveries. A friend of mine and I almost have the capital for it, but we’ll need some extra hands to keep it afloat. With your skills, it’ll be a cinch to wow your customers and help make a name for ourselves.”

Jester looked back at his circus tent, inherited from his parents and their parents before that. He would be walking away from generations of tradition, something he had never thought to grow apart from. But then, he let out a sigh of resignation.

“Only if you bring that friend of yours to come see the grandest finale that I will ever perform!”

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“Jester? Jester! Yoo-hooooo!”

“Ah, forgive me, Jolly. I was lost in my thoughts for a moment.”

“I noticed that your delivery had been complete, but you’ve been idle for several minutes. Just wanted to check in on you.”

“Even the best performer requires a breather, particularly when one has overexerted for the sake of children’s smiles.”

Jester looked out at the active construction, where netting was being placed over a schoolyard for children just beginning to learn the ropes of flying. Since it was a wide-open space with traffic above, the city didn’t want to risk any trauma to the children from fall victims. After all, children were the future, and any deterrence from adopting wings would lead to downfall of Stratos.

In addition to giant spools of microfiber, cylinders of mysterious polymer had been transported to various parts of the city. Jesters watched as workers attached them to machines that sprayed a thin film across the webbing, sealing up the space in between. What resulted was a flexible dome that shielded the open space from any debris above. One could also happily bounce on top of it like a trampoline, leading to safety nets just below.

Jester could feel the intent to protect the city’s future from the weight of these cylinders. He took a moment to shake out his arms to bring back their vigor. He would do his part as well to protect his smiling customers.