After the discovery of slipspace, they also recruited.
Slipspace granted easy travel to non-Confederation worlds, letting the Children seek Silent who had been sold or were being persecuted or had remained ignorant of their gifts. Ara herself had bought and freed nearly three hundred slaves and outright stolen dozens of others.
The tickle nudged her again. Ara was about to leave the Dream when something landed at her feet with a splat. It was a pear, one so rotten it had turned black. Several other dotted the ground.
What in the world? Ara thought. She looked up at the tree above her. Every pear was rotting on the branch. So were the oranges in the other trees. She stared. The hunger to return to one’s body often interfered with the concentration necessary to hold a Dream world together, but she had never experienced anything like this.
A roar boomed across the garden. Behind the wall rose a terrible monster with green skin and long fangs. It stepped over the wall with another roar and reached for Ara with a clawed hand.
“Hello, Kendi,” she said amiably. “Did you do the pears, too?”
The monster melted and vanished, leaving a wide-eyed koala bear in its place. Kendi emerged from behind a tree. He was wearing the linen shirt and trousers Ara usually conjured for him. The koala sniffed at the rotten pear.
“Didn’t even faze you, huh?” Kendi said, reaching down to scratch the koala’s ears.
“No. It was a good monster, though.” She nudged the pear with a toe. “Well?”
Kendi looked down. “Not me. I noticed it earlier, though, and figured I’d better come back after my sister—” he gestured at the koala “—lead Gretch to the Rustic Silent.”
Ara stared at the trees and concentrated. She expected sweet oranges and firm pears. This was her Dream, and by Irfan she would have them. Nothing happened.
The ground dropped away. Ara lost her balance and fell several feet. Her breath slammed out of her lungs when she hit. The earth thundered beneath her and a thousand cracks tore the garden wall.
“Kendi!” she shouted.
“It isn’t me!” he yelled back. “What the hell is—”
A pit yawned beneath him and he vanished with a shriek.
“Kendi!” Ara lunged for him, but he had already disappeared. A brown blur of movement leaped into the darkness. A moment later, the falcon, grown impossibly large, rose on laboring wings from the pit. Kendi hung by one arm in her talons. The ground vibrated, and clumps of earth dropped into the depths. Ara grabbed Kendi’s free arm and helped the falcon haul him to solid ground. The moment his weight left her, the falcon flashed back to normal size and fled to the skies with a defiant scream. The earth continued to rock and rumble under their feet, making it a struggle to keep their balance.
“We’ve got to get out of here,” Kendi gasped. Ugly welts and scratches marked his arm. Psychosomatic memory would carry them over into his real body. If he had fallen into the pit, his body would have perished with his mind.
“Where’s Gretchen?” Ara asked. “Is she safe?”
“She’s that way,” Kendi gestured. Gretchen’s exact location instantly came from Kendi’s mind into Ara’s, even though the words she “heard” were vague and imprecise. Quickly she grabbed Kendi’s wrist.
“Mother, wait!”
But Ara had already moved them both. A wooden deck popped into existence beneath them. Cool, crisp air washed over Ara, filling her nose with the scent of salt and sea. White sails creaked above them. Beside her, Kendi’s Dream form wavered like a bad hologram, then snapped into focus. He fell retching to hands and knees. Ara looked around. Although the ship was moving steadily up and down, everything looked stable. Kendi continued to retch.
“You aren’t really sick,” she said. “It’s all in your head.”
“Thanks for the sympathy,” Kendi said, wiping his mouth with the back of one hand.
“What’s going on?” Gretchen asked. She stood behind them at the helm, the giant spoked wheel held loosely in her grip. Gretchen wore a pirate shirt and sailor’s cap, as did Ara and Kendi.
“Are you all right?” Ara said.
“Why shouldn’t I be?” Gretchen asked suspiciously. “I talked to some Silent on Rust, but they won’t say much. The Unity’s got them scared shitless. You aren’t checking up on me, are you? Because if you are—”
The tickle to return suddenly blew into full-fledged need. It was worse than having an overfull bladder. Gretchen was all right. The rest could wait.
“I’m leaving,” Ara said. “Get out of the Dream, both of you. That’s an order.” And she let go of the Dream.
CHAPTER THREE
THE DREAM
The best spy hides in open day, where everyone can see.
—Kethan Majir, Letters from Prison
Kendi Weaver got to his feet, his stomach still lurching around his insides. His arm hurt, his drugs were wearing off, and he wanted nothing more than to call up hot, dry Outback. Gretchen’s mind pressed in on him, however, keeping the Dream ocean washing up and down beneath him. The motion worsened his nausea.
“Let’s go, Gretch,” he said. “I’m about done in.”
Gretchen caught sight of his arm and let go of the helm. “Jesus, what happened to you?”
“I’ll explain on the ship, Gretch. I have to go.” And he released the Dream.
Ship and ocean vanished, replaced by gray ceramic walls and a red spear under his knee. He disentangled himself and sank down to the narrow bed. Angry red scratches ran down his arm, and bruises were already forming. His shoulder was stiff, and faint pangs of nausea still oozed through his stomach. No matter how hard he tried, Kendi still couldn’t master instantaneous movement through the Dream. The abrupt change from one world to another was just too much.
Another small wave of nausea. Kendi took deep breaths until the feeling passed. Both the nausea and his injuries were in his head. If he could keep his Dream and waking selves more separate, as Ara was fond of reminding him, his mind would stop creating counterparts to injuries he sustained in the Dream. Most Silent only sustained slight discomfort if they were hurt while Dreaming, though actual death in the Dream meant death in the waking world no matter how finely-tuned a Silent’s control might be. This knowledge lessened neither pain nor nausea.
After a moment, Kendi pulled on a robe and went down the hall to the bathroom. He took a hot shower, sprayed his arm with disinfectants and painkillers, and swallowed an anti-inflammatory agent for his shoulder. Feeling better, he headed back to get dressed and found Ben at his door. Ben’s red hair was tousled as usual, though his purple tunic had been recently smoothed.
“Hey, Ben,” Kendi said. “I was in the bathroom.”
Ben turned. His blue eyes fixed on Kendi a moment before glancing away. “We’ve landed,” he said. “Customs will board pretty soon, and I’ve got some bad news. Jack downloaded the latest illegals for Rust. I guess your…uh…your…”
Kendi groaned theatrically and entered his room. Ben followed with a certain reluctance, like a puppy trying to figure out if it was welcome or would be shooed out the moment someone noticed it. Kendi thumbed the lock on his medicine chest and gathered ampules.
“I would’ve called on the intercom,” Ben continued, “but Peggy-Sue couldn’t find you. Poor thing’s old and full of bugs.”
Kendi, still gathering ampules, stole a glance at Ben over his shoulder. He was shorter than Kendi, and stocky. His build, muscular but not intimidating, filled out the trader’s tunic very nicely, and his face had an open, ingenuous look.
And so damned handsome, Kendi thought.
Kendi’s injured shoulder suddenly spasmed. Ampules scattered over the floor. Instantly Ben was at Kendi’s side, his hand on Kendi’s good arm.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Kendi grunted. “It’s all in my head, but it still hurts. Guess my mind is stronger than the painkillers.”
Ben guided Kendi to the bed, and Kendi let him. There was n
othing wrong with his legs, but he couldn’t bring himself to pull away from the gentle, familiar warmth of Ben’s hand. He sat down and Ben knelt to gather up the ampules. Kendi felt a little empty when Ben let go.
“Ben,” he said suddenly.
“No, Kendi,” Ben said without looking up.
“But—”
“I’m sorry, Kendi. Just ‘no,’ all right?” Ben’s knees cracked when he got up, his hands full of ampules. A slight blush colored his face.
“Ben, I just want to know why. I mean, you all but pushed me out the door.”
“Kendi, please don’t. Not right now.”
“I don’t want to hurt you, Ben,” Kendi said quietly. It was hard to keep his voice steady. “You’ve been avoiding me since I moved back to the monastery. This is the first time I’ve been alone with you, and even on this ship, that isn’t easy to arrange.”
Ben looked away, then nodded. “I don’t like avoiding you. I want to be friends, Kendi, but—well, we can talk later, I promise. Maybe we can be…” Then he shook his head and backed away. “Look, I’ll put these in the smuggling compartments in the engine room, all right?”
Kendi nodded. His heart beat fast and his mouth was dry. Ben trotted into the hall and the door slid shut.
“Maybe we can be…” Kendi repeated aloud. Elation filled him and he wanted to leap to his feet in a dance of joy. He forced the feeling down, however. ‘Maybe’ meant only ‘not no.’ Kendi lay back on the bed and sighed heavily. He could still see Ben’s blue eyes, feel his firm hand, hear his quiet voice.
If it is in my best interest and in the best interest of all life everywhere, he thought, please let ‘maybe’ mean ‘yes.’
Another knock at the door made him sit up. “Come in.”
Gretchen slid the door open. “Intercom’s broken,” she announced. “Ara told me what happened. She wants to brief everyone, but first—”
“Attention! Attention!” said the computer’s voice. “Unity customs officials will board in five minutes.”
Kendi stood up. “Guess the intercom’s fixed.”
“Do you think what happened has something to do with the child?” Gretchen asked as they headed for the door.
“Dunno,” Kendi said. “But something that can do that to the Dream scares the hell out of me.”
The quarantine and customs people only confiscated five shots of painkillers, a pair of goldfish Ara had warned Trish not to bring, and three heads of lettuce from the galley. Some extensive clinking that passed from Ara’s hands to the inspector’s ensured that they confiscate nothing else.
After they left, Ara called a briefing in the tiny galley. Despite her earlier threat, Kendi didn’t have to clean up the mess left by his abrupt u-turn. Jack Jameson, who held forth as ship’s cook and quartermaster, had already taken care of that. Not everyone could sit down, even though the crew numbered only eight. Kendi—and the others, he was sure—would have preferred to meet somewhere else, but the customs inspectors had just left, and Ara was worried they might have planted listening devices. Trish had so far managed to sweep only the galley.
Ara, Kendi, Gretchen, Trish and Ben got seats at the table. Jack, a thin, blond man in his late fifties, hovered in a corner. Pitr’s solid bulk occupied the doorway. Abruptly he yelped and stood aside. Harenn Mashib slouched into the room, her dark eyes heavy above her blue veil. She was short, with an average build and olive skin. Kendi wondered what she had done to make Pitr jump. Harenn moved toward Jack’s corner, and he vacated it immediately.
“Coffee?” she grumped.
“I’d like to get started,” Ara interjected tartly, and launched into an explanation of what had happened in the Dream. Pitr, who was also Silent, went pale.
“So whenever you go into the Dream, I want you to be extra careful. Get out if something in your environment changes and you can’t fix it,” Ara concluded. She drummed her fingers briefly on the tabletop. “I also met personally with the Empress.”
The group stirred at this, and Kendi stole a glance at Ben. Ben’s eyes, however, remained locked on Ara.
“She wants the child at all costs,” Ara said. “She’s worried this kid might kill someone or even start a war. We are to find the child quickly. Highest priority.”
Kendi shifted in his seat. Something didn’t feel right. He looked closely at Ara’s face, but found no help there. Like Ben, she wouldn’t look at him.
She’s holding something back, he decided. What’s with that?
“Kendi’s will search the black markets,” Ara continued. “Gretchen will check out the legitimate slaves. Ben, you and Trish see what you can find on the nets. Anything unusual might be a clue. Pitr, I want you to explore the Dream, see if you find anything funny. I’m going to shmooze with the bureaucrats. Jack, you deal with inquiries about buying our cargo. Harenn, you keep working on the damage we sustained when the Unity fired on us.”
“I’ll probably be a few days, Mother,” Kendi said. “It takes time to make contacts. I’ll check in when I can.”
Ara nodded, still without looking at him. “Just remember—we are nothing more than humble confection traders. If you even poke your nose out a hatchway, make sure you’re wearing a purple tunic. Questions? Then head out, troups.”
Everyone except Kendi moved for the door. After the room cleared, he turned to Ara.
“I can’t wear the tunic when I’m trying to make contacts,” Kendi said. “I’d be better off posing as an out-of-towner instead of showing up as an off-worlder.”
“You’d know better than I would,” Ara said in a neutral voice.
The hell with it. “Ara, what aren’t you telling me?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, you aren’t telling me everything. Did the Empress say something? Something you left out of the briefing?”
“No.”
Kendi blinked. “You know, I think that’s the first time you’ve ever lied to me.”
“Leave it, Kendi.”
“Ara, I’m second in command here. If the Empress told you—”
“I said, leave it!” Ara snapped.
“Fine.” Kendi rose. “Just don’t get yourself killed or incapacitated, Mother, or I’ll be commanding this shitshingle half blind.” And he left the galley.
Ara shifted impatiently from foot to foot. She examined her fingernails. She counted the gray ceiling tiles. And she waited. Behind her, in the public clerk’s office proper, low murmurs mixed with the clatter of computer keys and flat-voiced computer responses as people used the terminals. Despite the computer access, however, a hefty line of people waited to talk to the half-dozen clerks behind the counter. Painted signs admonished, Everything for the Good of the Unity, You Are Your Neighbor’s Keeper, and You Have a Friend in the Unity. The room was cramped and dingy, with dirty white tile on the floor and cheap, lumpy walls. Ara had been waiting in line for an hour, and that gave her time to think. Words and phrases mixed in her head, and the office offered no distractions.
The safety of this Confederation is more important.
I think that’s the first time you ever lied to me.
I want you to destroy it.
There’s something you aren’t telling me.
The line shuffled forward a pace. Ara sighed. She had wanted to tell Kendi what the Empress had said, but the words had stuck in her throat. How could she kill a child?
Maybe it won’t come to that, she told herself. Maybe the child won’t be a threat.
“Glory to the—Ara? Stars above, is that you?”
A chill stabbed Ara’s bones. She glanced up sharply and realized she had reached the front of the line. Behind the counter was a man who looked about sixty. He was bald, heavily freckled, and thin. He didn’t look the least bit familiar. Who was he? How had he recognized her? Should she brazen it out? Pretend he was mistaken? Run for it?
She settled on polite bewilderment.
“I’m sorry, sir,” she said. “I don’t think I—”
/> “It’s me, Ara. Chin Fen.”
Recognition dawned. “Fen?” Ara gasped. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Fen shrugged. “Everyone’s got to go somewhere. What are the odds, huh? Looks like you didn’t complete—” He halted for a moment, then leaned forward, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Complete your Silent training after all.”
Relief washed through Ara, though she didn’t relax. Chin Fen had left the Children of Irfan when he and Ara were in their early twenties. She remembered him as quiet and shy. More of a hanger-on than a friend. He’d always been friendly, though, and now that Ara was over her initial shock, she realized his presence was a gift, a free contact.
“I didn’t recognize you at first,” she admitted. “But what should we expect after—”
“Don’t say how many years it’s been,” Fen interrupted. “I don’t want to hear it.”
God, he’s a year younger than I am, Ara thought, trying not to stare at the wrinkles and spots. And I’m not even fifty. Is that what living under the Unity does?
Fen lowered his voice again. “Look, don’t tell anyone that you’re Silent, even an untrained one. You’ll be sold into slavery. You wouldn’t believe what I went through to avoid being found out.”
“I won’t tell if you won’t,” Ara murmured.
Fen nodded. “So what made you leave the…university?”
“I had a change of heart,” Ara replied. “It didn’t turn out to be what I was looking for.”
“For you and me both,” Fen laughed. “How long did you last after I left?”
Ara thought quickly. She’d have to remember whatever lie she told. Best to keep it simple. “Two years. Maybe three? I haven’t thought about the university in a long time.”
“It was a good time. You, me, Priss, Dello, and—what was his name? The guy who limped.”
“Benjamin,” Ara supplied with a small twinge.
Fen snapped his fingers. “Benjamin Heller. Wouldn’t let us call him Ben. Whatever happened to any of them? I never heard.”
Dreamer Page 4
