"I hate you!" Bedj-ka struggled in Kendi's arms. "You sold me away and I hate you!"
"Harenn!" Kendi barked.
Harenn unfroze. "Take him up to our quarters. I'll deal with Isaac and come right up."
"Hurry." Kendi carried the still-screaming Bedj-ka out of the medical bay, leaving Isaac on the floor. Harenn dragged him to his feet and sat him on one of the examination beds. His face was still pale with pain.
"Now he is hysterical, thanks to you," Harenn said. "Think of this as your reward." She pressed the dermospray to his arm and thumbed the release.
"What the hell was that?" Isaac gasped, arms crossed over his abdomen from the kick he had received.
"If you are referring to Bedj-ka's attack, I should think that was self-explanatory," Harenn replied. "And I shall definitely have to enroll him in a martial arts class. He has talent. If you are referring to the dermospray--have you ever had gelpox?"
"No."
"Good. I will take you back to your room and there you will stay. By this time tomorrow, if everything goes well, we will be far away from this horrible place."
"What about me?"
"I imagine you will have a long conversation with the Guardians back on Bellerophon, and then you will have more conversations with police forces on other worlds. Enjoy what freedom you have, Isaac. You will have even less of it very soon."
Kendi flopped down onto Harenn's sofa with a sigh. Dealing with hysterical nine-year-old boys wasn't in his job description, unless they had snuck it in when he wasn't looking. On the other hand, he supposed, it was good practice for becoming a father--small "f." Assuming he and Ben got through this whole thing in one piece, anyway.
The door slid open and Harenn entered. "Where is he?" she asked without preamble.
"In his room. He calmed down and said he wanted to be alone, though I'm sure you'll want to talk to him anyway. I can recommend a good counselor when we get back to Bellerophon."
Harenn lowered her voice. "If we get back."
She was echoing his earlier thought, but he forced a smile anyway. "Pessimist."
"Realist," she corrected.
"If you want, Harenn, we can put you and Bedj-ka on the Emporium's ship. You'll both be safe there, and if you injected Todd--"
"I did."
"--then you don't need to stick around for the end. I'll let you know how it works out, I promise."
Harenn opened her mouth, then clamped it shut. Now that she no longer wore her veil, Kendi found it easy to read her expression. He knew she felt it was her duty to stay, help Kendi free his family the way he had helped Harenn free hers. But now she had to think of Bedj-ka's safety instead of just her own. Kendi had been counting on that.
At last she said, "Very well. I must check on Isaac in an hour to make sure the injection took, and then I will take Bedj-ka over to the Emporium. He will probably enjoy that very much, come to think of it." She stood up. "I should go talk to him."
Kendi gave a small sigh of relief that she had agreed so readily and rose as well. "I have a few other things to finish up, too. And then we're going to have a briefing. The last one."
"Only for this mission. There will be others."
"That sounded suspiciously like optimism, Madame Realist."
"Yes." Harenn took Kendi's hand and squeezed it. "Kendi, I hope you know I did not mean what I said about your plan being selfish. I am very grateful to you."
"I know."
"If we do not meet again, I want you to know that I am glad to have served with you--and under you." She looked up at him, brown eyes meeting brown eyes. "You have made history once, Father Kendi Weaver, and I think you are going to make it again."
"By rescuing a handful of Silent from SA? Hardly."
"No. I mean later. Great people rarely touch the universe only once." She stood on tiptoe, kissed him lightly on the cheek, and hurried into Bedj-ka's room.
"They're going to do it tonight, sir, or perhaps early tomorrow morning."
"How do you know, Mr. Todd?"
"Harenn told me that by this time tomorrow, they would be far away from SA Station."
"Have you learned the Father's name yet? We have extensive files on the Children of Irfan, and it would be easier to keep a lookout if we knew what he looked like."
"I still haven't caught his name, sir. He has dark skin, curly black hair, and dark eyes."
"That describes half the humans who live on this station, Mr. Todd."
"Tall, on the thin side."
"Your powers of description leave much to be desired."
"Sorry, sir. They're still planning to infect the Father's family with gelpox and tamper with the computer diagnostics to make you think they have something more serious and sell them away cheap." He grimaced. "Harenn injected me with gelpox to test the viability of the virus. In a couple days, I won't be feeling very good."
"Gelpox is a child's disease, Mr. Todd--a mere inconvenience. You shouldn't worry yourself."
"Yes, sir."
"If they want to tamper with the diagnostic equipment, they'll have to break into the research and medical labs."
"Yes, sir. If you put extra security in the medical bay, you'll probably get a whole lot more Silent for the Collection."
"You may count on that, Mr. Todd."
"And then you'll come and get me, sir?"
"I won't need to, Mr. Todd. I've already spoken with Rafille Mallory. She was able to give me a computer virus that will override your shackles and another one that will open your door. I am uploading them into your communicator now. You land on your feet more easily than a cat, Mr. Todd, and I am eager to see you do it again. If you can find your way back to the Collection in time to see everything through, I will reward your resourcefulness. If you can't, you will want to practice your vanishing skills."
"A test, sir?"
"An assignment. Good luck, Mr. Todd."
Martina forced herself not to pace. This was it. She was getting out now. Tonight. Or today, or whatever the hell it was. Pacing, however, might attract the attention of the cameras, and that she didn't want. Yet. First, she needed to run a bath.
In the bathroom, Martina ran hot water into the tub. Moist steam billowed up. Bathing was one luxury the Deltas, with their emphasis on physical purity, did not restrict. Martina was, however, at the beginning of a sleep cycle, and she knew from experience that if she didn't go to bed soon, Delta Maura would come to check on her.
Martina glanced around the tiled room. Several moments' thought and a bit of experimentation had proven to Martina's satisfaction that the bathroom had two cameras in it. One of them observed the shower. Martina had figured this out with a bit of logic. The shower stall had an opaque door on it, but during Confessional, the Deltas always knew what any given Alpha did in the shower. That meant there had to be a camera that spied on just the shower stall from either inside or above.
The bathroom itself was tiled in green squares, and the layout was such that only one place granted a clear view of the entire room--the mirror over the sink. Martina was willing to bet that a second camera lay behind the mirror. Granted, spy devices could be tiny, but mounting--and hiding--such devices on tile was harder than installing them behind a mirror, and why take the hard route when the easy one would work just as well? Further proof of her idea lay in the fact that no matter how steamy the room got, the mirror always stayed clear.
Unfortunately, Martina had no way to test this particular theory until she actually put her plan into motion. Her heart climbed into her throat as she casually undressed down to her underwear and then, as if bored while waiting for the tub to fill, she picked up a bar of soap from the sink and toyed with it. Whimsically, she drew a smiley face on the mirror and made faces at herself. Then, with a light laugh, she scribbled over the mirror with soap until the whole thing was completely blocked out. Just playing around. No harm here. She set the soap down, crossed to the half-full tub, and opened the drain without turning off the water. With a hard
swallow, she picked up a can of depilatory cream, propped one foot on the side of the tub, and spread some of it on her leg.
Then she waited.
Her mouth was dry and her hands shook. If this didn't work, if she got caught, she had no idea what would happen to her. Martina doubted it would be pleasant. They wouldn't kill her--she was too valuable for that--but a lot of brainwashing methods were less . . . genial than those which the Deltas currently used. There was also the very real possibility that even if she got out, she would find herself with nowhere to run. As Keith had pointed out, this could be an asteroid or a station or an installation in the middle of a desert. And what about her shackles? They might shock her into insensibility the moment she crossed the threshold. Still, she had to try, had to find out.
A sound reached her ears over the noise of running water. The main door to her quarters had opened.
"Hello?" came Delta Maura's voice. "Alpha?"
"I'm in here," Martina called through dry lips.
Delta Maura entered the bathroom, her green robe and wimple rustling in the thick steam. Her face was serene, as usual, but her eyes went straight to the mirror. Martina suppressed a grim smile. Her theory had proven correct. Delta Maura had been sent in to unblock the camera. If there had been another camera in the room, or if Martina had been wrong about the mirror, the spies, whoever they were, would have simply continued watching.
"Is there a problem, Delta Maura?" Martina asked. The running water was loud, and she had to raise her voice.
"What did you do to your mirror, dear?" Delta Maura said.
Martina laughed. "Just playing around. Didn't you ever draw on the mirror with soap when you were a kid?"
"No."
"It's a pretty design, I think. Look, you can still see the bird."
Delta Maura turned to examine the glass. "Bird? I'm afraid I don't--"
Martina clocked her with the can. Delta Maura collapsed. Martina caught her and lowered her to the floor. Quickly she undressed the woman and shrugged into the voluminous robe and wimple.
Under the robe Delta Maura wore a belt with a small computer box on it. Martina gasped in recognition--a master unit. Master units controlled slave shackles. With trembling fingers, Martina found the tiny key and pulled it away from the unit. A lead wire stretched with it. Martina touched the key to her wristband. It fell open and dropped to the floor. Quickly, Martina touched the key to her ankleband and released that as well. She stared down at the naked skin left behind. The wristbands had been part of her life for over fifteen years, and now they were gone.
Martina shook herself. This wasn't the time for rumination. It was time to leave. At the last minute, Martina remembered to grab the gloves--and she found Delta Maura's keycard. Martina rolled her eyes. She didn't need the one she had found at all. On the other hand, it had given her the idea to escape in the first place. Finally, Martina took Delta Maura's earpiece and slipped it on.
"You can't leave the mirror like that, you know," Martina said as she worked, imitating Delta Maura's voice and praying that the running water would keep a listener from noticing the difference. "We'll have to clean it off."
"I'm almost done over here," she answered in her own voice. "Can you help me?"
Delta Maura's voice: "Well, all right. But let's move it along."
Gritting her teeth to keep herself from grunting, Martina heaved Delta Maura's limp body into the tub. The strain pulled at her back and arms, and she was sweating in the thick, steamy air. Eventually, Delta Maura slid home, with only the top of her head showing above the tub's rim. There was no danger she would drown, since the water was running down the drain as fast as it came in. Martina dropped a towel over her shackles lying open on the floor, then snatched up a washcloth and wiped the soap off the mirror, starting at the top and working downward. She kept her head lowered, pretending to keep her eyes on her work but actually using the wimple to hide her face from the camera. Then she turned back to the tub.
"That's enough water, dear," she said above the noise. "When you finish, go straight to bed."
She reached down, shut off the water, and strode quickly from the room.
"So that's the entire plan," Gretchen said. "Glad you saw fit to enlighten us five whole minutes before we get to work."
"This isn't a good time to argue," Lucia said. "We have our jobs to do, and we need to do them so we can get those people out."
Kendi drummed his fingers on his knees beneath the galley table. Lucia had made her usual delicious spread of snacks, but he didn't feel like eating of it. Neither, he noticed, did any of the others.
"Just a minute," Ben said. "Kendi, you're planning to break into the research area alone?"
"The fewer to go in," Kendi told him, "the fewer to get caught."
"And killed."
"I'm Silent, Ben, and I can still work in the Dream. Do you honestly think they'd kill me? If I make a mistake, they'll probably just make me part of the Collection."
"That makes me feel so much better."
"And you'll be free to stage another rescue," Kendi finished.
"Sounds like fun," Gretchen drawled.
Kendi firmed his jaw. "I don't know why I'm trying to justify anything. This is the way it's going to happen, troops. You have gripes, take them up with Irfan."
"We'll do as you order, Father," Lucia said quietly. "We're just worried about you. Even Sister Gretchen worries, though she won't admit it."
Gretchen folded her arms. "The only thing I'm worried about is how much my part sucks."
Father Kendi Weaver adjusted his tool belt and shrugged within his blue maintenance uniform. Seemingly without a care in the world, he sauntered up the corridor that led to the Collection.
The corridor, an unassuming gray affair with no doors or windows, was deserted. The files Ben had copied from Roon's directory had indicated that although the Silent prisoners--Alphas, Roon called them--did not have a fixed schedule, most of the workers did. Only a skeleton staff remained on duty for eight of the station's twenty-four hours each "day," giving them some semblance of a diurnal cycle. It seemed most logical to strike when most of the staff were gone.
Interestingly enough, the files also indicated that the vast majority of the workers had no idea what sort of project they were working for. Only Roon, the department heads, another group called the Deltas, and a handful of security folk were in the know. The rest were corporate and blue-collar dupes who would probably lose their jobs when it was all over. But Kendi couldn't let himself feel sorry for them. Not where slavery was involved.
The first checkpoint was a heavy-looking door with a print scanner next to it. Kendi slotted his ID holocard into the key slot, then pressed his thumb to the plate. The plate glowed blue. Kendi held his breath. He knew very well that Ben had used Roon's access to upload a scan of Kendi's prints to the "approved" list, but there was always a moment when you wondered if there had been a mistake.
The lock released with a loud clunk. Kendi pocketed the holocard Ben had forged for him and continued onward. His hands weren't even shaking.
The second checkpoint was exactly like the first, and admitted him with no trouble. The third checkpoint consisted of a plexiglass door through which Kendi could see a pair of human guards watching a series of display terminals. Kendi slotted his card and submitted to the retina scan. Both guards looked up as the lock released and Kendi entered.
"Hey," he said.
The first guard blinked, probably checking the time on his ocular implant. "Late?"
Kendi shrugged. "I called in sick at first, but felt better later, so I decided to come in. You know how it goes--missed hours mean a smaller paycheck."
"I hear you," said the second guard, waving him on.
Kendi hitched his tool belt and moved more quickly, as if he really were worried about missing work time. He turned a corner and found a door labeled Lockers. Kendi went in.
The place looked like any ordinary place for changing and storing clot
hes. Gray tiles, benches, rows of black lockers. Deserted. Kendi tapped his earpiece. "I'm in."
"Are you logged onto the system as Mallory?"
Kendi left the locker room, and a transparent red arrow flashed across the bottom of his vision. It led him left, then straight, then left again. He kept his cap low. From time to time he passed other people, all human, and all of whom ignored him. Eventually, the arrow took him down another empty hallway to a large lift. The arrow changed into a number 5. Kendi used his card to board the lift and pressed the button for the fifth floor. Once the doors shut, he quickly shucked his coveralls, revealing a skin-tight black outfit beneath. Kendi replaced the tool belt around his waist and sprayed the coveralls. They disintegrated. Next he pulled a black mask and hood from the tool belt and checked the time on his ocular display. He nodded, satisfied.
It was time to make Roon pay.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
"We are stuck with what we've lived through. The trick is to finish it with a flourish and an outrageous sense of design."
--Valeta Kalopolis, Ringmaster
Delta Maura's keycard opened the door with no trouble. The corridor beyond was empty--sleep cycle. Martina braced herself, then crossed the threshold.
Nothing happened. No shock, no pain, no alarms. She let out a small breath. Her shackles lay on the bathroom floor. There was no reason to believe anything would happen to her when she left her prescribed place, but a lifetime of conditioning could not be overcome in a few seconds of freedom.
Martina chose a random direction and went. The problem was, she had no idea where to go. She reasoned there had to be ways in and out of the place, though Martina had never seen them. She should probably avoid places she knew, since they'd be dead-ends. The kitchen would be a good place to start--food delivery had to come from somewhere. It might provide her an exit, if only she could find the place.
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