Dreamer

Kendi tried to run, but there was no room. Unyielding stone hemmed him in. Shadows flickered like dancing trolls.

“Keeeeennnnnddiiiiii,” rasped a voice. “Keeeeennnddiiii.”

A dark puddle spilled across the floor, reaching for Kendi’s feet. He couldn’t see, he couldn’t move, he couldn’t cry out. A bright object flashed. Kendi screamed and bolted awake.

He was sitting up. Sweat ran in tiny rivulets down his bare torso and darkened the sheets. He sat there a moment, panting. He was on the Post Script, in his quarters, in his bed. The lights were on-he couldn’t bring himself to darken the room. He slumped a bit. The nightmare was already fading.

“Attention! Attention!” Peggy Sue said. “The time is now seven a.m. Attention! Attention! The time is now-”

“Peggy Sue, halt alarm,” Kendi said with remembered excitement. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and reached for his bathrobe. Today, Ara had promised, they would talk to Sejal.

Ara entered the galley, coffee cup in hand, last night’s resolve firm in her mind. At the sight of Kendi’s grinning face, however, she completely lost her nerve.

“Sejal today, right?” he said. “Trish says the Unity knows about him, so we have to move fast.”

Ara sat and hid behind a sip of coffee. The others had already breakfasted, so she and Kendi were alone in the little galley. The smell of rice meal and toast hung on the air. Despite her exhaustion and the fact that she had unburdened herself to Ben last night, Ara had slept fitfully and she felt heavy circles under her eyes.

“Yes,” she said, forcing herself to sit erect. “We’re going to see Sejal today. But I don’t think you should come, Kendi.”

“What? Why the hell not?”

“You’ve got too much invested in this. I don’t know how objective you’ll be if you think he’s a relative.” Ara poured thick brown honey over crisp toast. “You’ll scare him off.”

“Who told you I think-” Kendi began, then caught himself. “Ben.”

Ara bit into her toast, hoping Kendi would agree just this once. No such luck. Kendi leaned forward, elbows on the table.

“I need to come with you,” he said. “I saved Sejal from those goons. He owes me, and he’ll be more willing to talk to me than to a total stranger.”

Ara didn’t have the energy to fight. She threw up her hands. “Fine. Come along, then. But if I signal you to shut up, you shut up. Clear?”

Kendi saluted.

“That wasn’t an answer.”

“All right,” Kendi sighed. “Your wish is my command. When do we leave?”

Ara rose. “Right now.”

The taxi door slammed shut and the vehicle zipped away, leaving Ara and Kendi at the gate. The neighborhood was as Ara remembered it except for a different guard at the gateway. Ara decided not to mince words. Her stomach was tight, and she didn’t feel like bandying about.

“Glory. We’re here to see Sejal Dasa,” she said.

“Glory. What for?” the guard, a husky, dark-haired woman, said.

Ara stepped on Kendi’s foot before he could speak. “It’s a private matter. May we pass?”

— I don’t have to do anything, Mother,~ Trish said from the Dream. ~This one isn’t very suspicious.~

Trish was right. The woman looked at them for a moment, then wordlessly stepped aside.

“Nice lady,” Kendi observed. “Polite.”

“She’s doing her job. And stop dragging your foot like a hunchback. I didn’t step on it that hard.”

“So you say.”

Ara smoothed her trader’s tunic, unable to help a small smile. Kendi could be exasperating, but he knew how to lighten a mood. She pointed. “Sejal’s apartment building is over there.”

“Clean neighborhood,” Kendi admired. “Better than those other places we passed through. You could eat off the street here.”

— There’s a thought,~ Trish said.

No people sat on the porches, and Ara assumed most of the adults were at work. A group of children ran up and down the sidewalk, yelling and giggling in some game or other. Their clothes were patched but clean. About a kilometer ahead of them, Ara could make out another wall and gateway. She wondered how extensive the wall was and what kind of neighborhood patrol Vidya had set up. Whatever she had done, it had apparently worked.

Ara and Kendi climbed the short flight of steps to the apartment building’s front door and Ara tried the nob.

“Glory to the Unity. Please state your name and your business,” said the scratchy-voiced computer.

“We’re here to see Vidya and Sejal Dasa,” Ara told it.

Whirr, click. “Please repeat your request.”

“We’re here to see Vidya and Sejal Dasa,” Ara repeated, louder this time.

Whirr, whirr, click. “Please repeat your request.”

“Ancient hardware,” Kendi muttered.

“Dasa!” Ara shouted at it. “We want to see Vidya Dasa!”

“Why are you looking for her?” said a voice beside them.

Ara turned. A woman was leaning out one of the first-floor windows. She looked to be in her late forties, with white-streaked dark hair, brown eyes, and an oval face. Worry lines left tracks across her skin.

— She’s nervous,~ Trish reported.

“My name is Ara,” Ara said. “This is Kendi. We’re actually trying to find Sejal Dasa. Are you his mother?”

“Why are you looking for Sejal?”

Ara sized the woman up. It was a sure call she was Vidya Dasa, and it was an equally sure call that she wasn’t very trusting. Ara’s instincts told her to go for brisk and business-like.

“We have an offer for him,” she said. “A business proposition.”

“Who are you with?”

“Not the Unity,” Ara replied. “Could we come in, Ms. Dasa? It’d be much easier to talk about this in private.”

Vidya paused for a long moment, then nodded once. “Door,” she said, “open.”

She had actually had to say it twice more before the computer would release the lock. Vidya withdrew through the window, and Ara and Kendi strode up the dingy hallway to the apartment door. Vidya ushered them inside. The apartment was, like the neighborhood, threadbare but tidy. Scuffed throw rugs covered a pocked wooden floor and an ancient terminal sat in one corner. The windows were open, and pale blue curtains fluttered weakly in the breeze.

The place smelled of curry. A swaybacked sofa and two ancient chairs were arranged around a coffee table make of packing crates. Vidya gestured them to sit, though when Ara made for one of the chairs, Vidya blocked her way. Ara took the sofa instead and Kendi sat beside her. Vidya took the chair. Kendi, Ara noticed, was fidgeting.

“I need you to tell me who you are and what you want with my son,” Vidya said.

Ara settled herself before beginning. “My full name is Araceil Rymar do Salman Reza. I am a Mother Adept of the Children of Irfan. This is Brother Kendi Weaver.”

“Silent monks,” Vidya said in a neutral voice. “I have heard of your people.”

“Then you know we aren’t here to hurt you or your son,” Ara said.

“Can we talk to him?” Kendi asked.

“Why?” Vidya asked evenly.

— She’s getting angry,~ Trish said. ~It’s clouding her up. I can barely read her.~

“He’s Silent,” Ara began, “and we want to ensure the Unity doesn’t-”

“He is not Silent.” There was an edge to Vidya’s voice. “I know this for a fact.”

“Who’s his father?” Kendi burst out.

“Kendi!” Ara snapped.

“His father is dead,” Vidya said. “He was my husband.”

Kendi’s mouth worked silently for a moment, then he asked, “Was your husband born on Rust?”

“Yes, as was his father before him.”

Kendi deflated on the hard sofa and Ara’s heart ached in sympathy. He might have brought it upon himself, but the deep disappointment on his face was so clear that Ara couldn’t help but feel sorry for him.

“Could we speak to Sejal?” Ara asked.

“He is not Silent,” Vidya repeated with more heat.

— Careful, you two,~ Trish said ~I don’t like this.~

“Ms. Dasa,” Ara said, “we have…information to the contrary. We aren’t here to take him in as a Unity slave. I should tell you, though, that the Unity is aware of him, too. They just haven’t tracked him down yet. We can smuggle him into the Children of-”

“Sejal is not Silent,” Vidya hissed. Her hand came up holding a short rod she had pulled from the space between the cushion and the chair. A blue spark crackled at the end. “Leave my house.”

Ara drew back on the sofa. “What in-?”

“An energy whip,” Kendi supplied. “It annoys cows but might kill a person.”

“Especially when it is set to full power.” Vidya’s hand was steady. “I will activate this whip in ten seconds. Nine…eight…seven…”

— She means it,~ Trish warned. ~I’d get the hell out if I were you.~

With a wordless glance at Kendi, Ara rose and strode for the door. Kendi followed. Neither of them spoke until they had left the building and cleared the guard at the gate. People passed them on the street without a second glance.

“What was that all about?” Kendi burst out when they were a safe distance away.

“I don’t know,” Ara said, puzzled. In all the years she had been recruiting for the Children of Irfan, no one had ever reacted quite like Vidya. Most people were overjoyed to earn the attention of the Children. It meant a guaranteed career, even a certain amount of wealth. And for slaves it meant freedom. Vidya’s response made no sense.

“So what do we do?” Kendi asked. They were standing in the shadow of a crumbling building not far from the neighborhood wall. Cars buzzed up the street, leaving whiffs of ozone in their wake.

Ara thought a moment. “I want you to find Sejal when he goes out, see if you can catch him alone.”

“Find him how? I’ll bet you a hundred kesh that Sejal’s going to change his clothes and that bug Gretchen planted will be worthless.”

“You know what part of the market he hangs out in,” Ara replied. “Like you said, Sejal knows you, and if he feels he owes you, you may have better luck.”

“And what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to have lunch with an old friend.”

The restaurant was cheap and low-key, with food Ara had learned to tolerate, if not enjoy. Ara would have preferred to meet somewhere more upscale, but she had been forced to admit that such would have drawn unwanted attention to herself and to Chin Fen.

The menu scrolled across the table and Ara tapped what she wanted-plankton stew, fishtail salad (“fishtail” being a variety of Rustic kelp), and algae bread. Then she checked the calendar. Rust kept a ten day week, and today was the third day. By now, Ara had shared enough lunches with Fen to know his food choices never varied from week to week. Ara tapped in his order-brown rice, peat shrimp, and a salad made of seapad pulp. According to Fen, the calm, tranquil seas of Rust gave rise to plants with huge red leaves that floated on the surface and covered several square kilometers. Seapads were sturdy enough to walk on, and the pulp from their leaves was a major food source for the Rustics. The leaves and the rich plankton filling the seas around them were red, giving Rust its name.

Fen had also hinted broadly that he might like to take a walk with her across a seapad some time. Ara had fallen back on playing stupid, pretending to miss the implied invitation.

“Glory,” Chin Fen said, cheerfully sliding into what he termed “their” booth. “Did you order yet?”

“For both of us,” Ara said. “Glory.”

“Thanks. Did you get your friend out of jail?”

Oops. Ara had forgotten to update Fen. “Yes. I’m sorry-in all the stress and excitement, I forgot to let you know.”

“I understand. No problem.”

It was a problem, Ara could see it in his dark brown eyes. “I really am sorry, Fen. It’s been so hectic. That’s a weak excuse, I know. We couldn’t have gotten him out without your help. I really owe you.”

“I’m not angry, Ara,” Fen said. “Really. How could I get angry at you?”

Ara suppressed the desire to compress her lips. Fen was nice, but for all his aged appearance, he still reminded her of a young puppy-eager to please, frightened of alienating anyone, unable to deliver even a justified rebuke. It was a personality that annoyed her. She was also growing more and more certain that Fen was entertaining romantic ideas, but Ara had never been attracted to the short, spineless type.

“Well, I’m still paying for lunch,” she said.

“You always pay for lunch,” Fen said. “I mean, I think that maybe I should-”

Ara waved a hand to cut him off. “I need every tax deduction I can get. Don’t worry about it.”

“Sure, fine.” Fen swirled his water glass, leaving a glistening trail of condensation on the tabletop. “So how did your friend do? In prison, I mean.”

“It wasn’t pleasant for him,” Ara said, “but he won’t talk about it.”

A server brought their order, temporarily halting their talk. Once the food was tasted and proclaimed acceptable, Ara managed to steer further conversation away from Kendi and keep it light and meaningless, laughing at any even vaguely witty remark Fen made. She drew the line, however, at batting her eyelashes. When the timing felt right, Ara dropped her little bombshell.

“I need another favor,” she said.

Fen cocked an eyebrow, and Ara supposed he meant to look archly seductive. She sighed internally and wished Pitr or Trish could slip into his mind from the Dream and dampen his attraction to her. Fen, however, was Silent, if only half-trained, and would notice even subtle tampering.

“I need information on a woman named Vidya Dasa,” she said. “I’ve looked in the nets and can’t find anything on her but an address and the name of her son. Can you dig deeper?”

“I suppose,” Fen said. He pulled a computer pad from his shirt pocket. “What’s the son’s name?”

Ara gave it, along with Vidya’s address. “Thanks, Fen. Anything you can get will be a big help. It’s worth a dozen lunches and a big box of chocolate.”

“I don’t do this for the paybacks, Ara.” His fingers edged toward her side of the table. Ara picked up her fork and took a salty bite of plankton so he wouldn’t try to take her hand. The motion seemed to effectively spoil the moment for Fen and he reached for his water glass instead.

“What do you need to know for?” he said.

Ara leaned forward conspiratorially. “It’s a secret. I can’t tell you right now, but I promise I’ll explain later.”

Gretchen would have rolled her eyes at the melodrama. Kendi would have made a smart remark. But Fen merely nodded pliantly. Ara began to understand why he had never been promoted.

The rest of the lunch passed without incident. Pleading a business meeting, Ara paid the bill and left before Fen could ask her to dinner. Lunch was business-like. Dinner had romantic implications Ara would rather avoid.

“Mother Ara,” came Jack Jameson’s voice over her earpiece, “I need you back at the ship for a minute. The buyer I’ve been negotiating with has agreed to a price on the dark chocolate and we need you for the finalizations.”

“On my way,” she sub-vocalized, flagging down a cab. It seemed like she was always involved in commerce of some kind or other. If she wasn’t dealing in information or humans, it was chocolate.

Ara had to admit she preferred the chocolate.

Kendi sucked up the last sweet noodle and thrust the bowl back at the vendor. “Again.”

The food seller gave him a wary look. “That was your third one,” he said. “Don’t you think you’ve had enough?”

“I’ll decide when I’ve had enough. Just fill the bowl.”

“If you throw up, do it somewhere else,” the seller warned. But he filled the bowl.

Kendi slurped up the sweet, floppy confection. Still more sugar rushed into his system and he was starting to feel like a hummingbird on caffeine, but he didn’t care. He had started lunch with three sticks of beef shishkebob and followed them with grilled hot peppers, a plate of tangy red kelp, and two cups of plankton-in-broth. His stomach was aching and bloated, but he ignored it. He also ignored the little internal voices that told him he wasn’t acting a proper member of the Real People, who practiced balance and moderation in all things.

We knew of the Dream long before Irfan Qasad and her ilk, they said, and we knew of it because we lived in balance.

Kendi stared down at the bowl, then left it on the noodle seller’s counter and walked away. The sounds and smells of the market rushed around him like a dirty wind. Sejal was not his nephew. Utang was not on Rust, had never been on Rust. He had failed to find his family again, Ben remained distant, and Ara was still keeping him in the dark about something. Kendi wandered through the market, sugar singing through his veins, rebukes of his ancestors ringing through his head. What could happen next?

Naturally at that moment his implant flashed and outlined Sejal ahead of him in the crowd. Like Kendi, Sejal was wandering through the market, hands thrust into his ragged pockets. This time, however, no excitement thrilled through Kendi. Sejal was an intellectual exercise now, a puzzle to solve. Some instinct told Kendi to hang back and watch instead of approaching Sejal directly. Obeying it, Kendi faded back and followed.

“Post Script,” Kendi sub-vocalized. “Are you there?”

“Communications are currently unmonitored,” answered Peggy-Sue. “Do you wish to alert someone or leave a message?”

“No. End communication.”

Kendi continued shadowing Sejal. This time, however, he paid less attention to where Sejal was going and more attention to how Sejal interacted with his environment. The boy earned admiring glances from several people and a look of open greed as he passed the stall of Mr. M, the man who had the long row of slaves in his basement. There was no denying Sejal was handsome, with those blue eyes that contrasted so sharply with his black hair and brown skin. His clothes were a bit small for him, and they showed off a well-shaped body that would continue to develop as Sejal drew closer to adulthood. If Sejal was aware of his looks, however, his walk didn’t show it. He stayed hunched into himself, ignoring everything around him. Kendi slid through the crowd of shoppers. Sejal paused at a corner, then took up a position against one wall. Kendi moved out of the people stream to observe him.

Sejal underwent a minor transformation at the corner. He stood straighter and a look of cool indifference dropped onto his face. A slight smile stole across his lips, and he hooked a thumb in his pocket. Kendi furrowed his brow and halted between two stalls. What did Sejal do on the corner all day? And what had the goons in the alley been after him for? Wasn’t Sejal afraid they’d come back?

Most of the passers-by ignored Sejal, as he ignored them. But finally a man who looked to be in his late forties approached Sejal. They conversed at length, and Kendi’s heavy stomach tightened. This was how the encounter in the alley got its start. This time, however, Kendi didn’t see any heavies moving in.

Sejal and the man walked up the street together and Kendi followed, more curious than ever. Eventually the pair entered a seedy building Kendi recognized as a cheap hotel. Kendi, in fact, had brought rent boys here to establish underworld “credentials,” and the place rented rooms by the hour for those who were so inclined.

The implications for Sejal’s presence there were obvious.

“He can’t,” Kendi whispered. But even as he said it, he knew Sejal could. It explained the too-small clothes and the time spent posturing at the corner. The alley goons must have been representatives from the local houses wanting to “discipline” a freelancer who was moving in on their territory. Kendi stared at the hotel in shock, wondering how he could have missed something so obvious. Why hadn’t Ara told him? He couldn’t imagine she didn’t know. Maybe she’d figured Kendi already knew about it or had forgotten to mention it after his arrest. A lot had happened and it may have slipped her mind.

Abruptly Kendi’s gorge rose, and he barely managed to make it to an open sewer grating before the contents of his stomach came up. The crowd made a hole around him but kept on with business.

After the nausea passed, Kendi hauled himself to his feet and managed to stagger to a spot on the sidewalk where he could watch the hotel. He still felt a little sick. He also felt a great deal of outrage.

Balance, he thought. Balance and moderation. Anger will not help here.

And why was he so angry? What was it to Kendi? It wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen this sort of thing before. He had paid for rent boys himself.

Yes, but they had been adults, consenting and willing. And they had been before Kendi’s arrest and his sentence to time in the Unity Kendi pushed the thoughts away. According to the Unity records Ben had conjured up, Sejal was sixteen, old enough to be considered an adult on many worlds. The man had not forced Sejal into the hotel, and Sejal was, presumably, being paid.

Still, it bothered him. He sat on the sidewalk and fidgeted. He was considering seeing if a nearby stall owner would sell him something to take the sour vomit taste out of his mouth when Sejal’s client emerged from the hotel. Kendi blinked and checked the time on his ocular implant. Only thirteen minutes had passed.

That was fast, he thought. Most people want to take their time with Kendi’s stomach abruptly tightened. What if the man was one of those sick monsters who got his erotic kicks out of strangling or stabbing people? What if Sejal was lying dead or injured in that hotel room?

Kendi was scrambling to his feet when Sejal emerged from the hotel. As Kendi watched, Sejal took up his customary position on a nearby corner. Within moments, a woman approached and they went into the hotel together.

Business is good today, Kendi thought, suddenly cynical.

The woman left twenty minutes later with Sejal exiting a few minutes behind her. Sejal went back to the corner and, ten minutes after that, went back inside with another woman.

Okay, this is weird, Kendi thought, curiosity piqued despite his other emotions. What’s his game?

Six men and three woman in Unity guard uniforms pushed their way through the market crowd and stormed toward the hotel. Kendi bolted upright. It was a raid.

“Mother, a call’s coming in for you,” said Ben’s voice over the intercom. “It’s Chin Fen.”

Ara sighed and tapped the console in her quarters. “Thanks, Ben. Patch him through.”

A moment later, Fen’s wrinkled face appeared on the console screen. His expression showed suppressed glee. They exchanged greetings, and Ara was a bit surprised when Fen got straight to the point.

“I did some checking on Vidya and Sejal Dasa,” Fen told her. “And I thought you might like to know what I found.”

“Definitely,” Ara replied. “What’d you dig up?”

Fen briskly cleared his throat. His manner was no longer that of a lovelorn puppy. He had instead become an efficient colleague. Ara wondered briefly if he had realized that she didn’t find obsequiousness attractive and was now going for professionalism.

“Vidya Dasa doesn’t exist much of anywhere,” Fen said. “The earliest record I could find of her goes back only sixteen years ago, when she moved into her current apartment. She registered a birth certificate for one Sejal Dasa. That’s pretty much it-no tax forms, no employment listings, not even a shopping excursion. I only found a few sporadic mentionings of her in other people’s records-mostly her son’s-but no real information on her. She’s lived at her current address for sixteen years, she pays her rent on time, and that’s it.”

“Doesn’t she pay access charges for the network?” Ara asked. “What about utility bills?”

Fen shook his head. “Network and utilities are part of her rent. If she logs onto the nets, she does it with a pseudonym that I haven’t been able to track. I’d say she’s going out of her way to make herself as invisible as possible. And there’s more.”

“What?”

“I said there isn’t a record for her that goes back further than sixteen years. This isn’t too unusual. The Unity annexed Rust twenty-odd years ago, and a fair number of records were partially wiped or destroyed during the…transition.”

Nice way to put it, Ara thought sarcastically.

“However, Vidya is an unusual name, so I ran it. Twenty-eight women, counting your Vidya, are or have been registered on Rust with that name. All but five have continual records that go back before the Unity Annexation. One of those five is listed as no longer living on Rust. Two of the five are listed as dying several years after Vidya Dasa’s earliest record, so they aren’t her unless your Vidya kept up a double life. One more of the five Vidyas was sold into slavery and her current owner is still paying taxes on her. The fifth one-Vidya Vajhur-disappears from all records about seven months before Vidya Dasa pops up.” Fen leaned forward. “It looks like Vidya Vajhur decided to disappear and become Vidya Dasa. She kept her original first name, I think, in case she ran into someone who knew her. It’s easy to explain a change of last name, but a change of first name is more awkward.”

Ara flashed back to the time she ran across Chin Fen in the registry office and the relief she felt that Ben hadn’t changed her first name for her forged Unity paperwork. For a dreadful moment she thought Fen was on to her, but she quickly discarded the idea. If Fen knew she was a spy, he would have reported her by now.

“I can see that,” Ara said aloud. “Do you know why she changed her name, if that’s what she did?”

Fen hesitated. “I’m not sure,” he said, reluctant to admit that he had failed on this point. “But I can tell you more about Vidya Vajhur. She’s a lot more interesting than Vidya Dasa.”

He paused, and Ara, restraining her impatience, gestured for him to continue.

“It’s going to cost you,” Fen said slyly.

Alarm bells went off in Ara’s head, but she kept her face calm. “Fen,” she said carefully, “I’m doing all right, but I’m not rich. I can probably come up with-”

“Not money,” Fen interrupted. “Time.”

“Time?”

“On a seapad leaf.” Fen grinned mischievously. “I’ll tell you what I found if you agree to one walk at sunset on a seapad leaf. Deal?”

Ara tapped her feet on the floor. She hadn’t expected this, not from Chin Fen. Did he have a backbone after all? Ara thought a moment. Fen was trying to order her around, and that really rankled. She didn’t really need Fen’s information at this point, now that she had what was probably Vidya’s real name. Ben could probably learn more than Fen had. On the other hand, using Fen to search didn’t carry a prison sentence, and it really wouldn’t do to waste what had turned out to be an excellent contact within Rust’s bureaucracy.

“Deal,” she said with a forced smile. “What’d you learn?”

Fen matched her smile. “Vidya Vajhur was a cattle farmer. She was actually born on Earth, though her parents emigrated to Rust when she was a toddler. She married a man named Prasad Vajhur. You’ll notice ‘Dasa’ is part of ‘Prasad’ spelled backward.”

Ara nodded.

“Anyway, the full records of her farming survived Annexation, but they’re pretty boring reading. How about I hit a few high points and you tell me if you want more detail, all right?”

Ara got the feeling Fen was enjoying stretching this out. “All right.”

“Vidya Vajhur was under contract to breed Silent children for the Unity.”

“What?”

“Well, her contract wasn’t originally with the Unity,” Fen amended. “It was with a company called Silent Acquisitions, Limited. They traffic in Silent slaves.”

“I’ve heard of them,” Ara said, trying to regain her composure. “Dreamers, Inc. is a paragon of virtue compared to them.”

“According to their medical records,” Fen said, “any child Vidya and Prasad had would be Silent, and they apparently negotiated a contract with Silent Acquisitions just before the Unity came. After the Annexation, the Unity took over the contract. Vidya and Prasad produced and gave up two healthy babies, fulfilling their contract.”

“How could she do such a thing?” Ara blurted. “I’ve heard of it, of course, but I can’t sympathize.”

Fen shrugged. “No idea. Anyway, a year after that, records show she had a third child, a daughter. Silent, of course.”

“And?” Ara prompted.

“Here’s where records get spotty. Katsu-the daughter-disappeared when she was barely a year old. A guard report lists her as kidnapped, presumed dead. When she was ten, Katsu would have been taken to be raised in Unity service, of course, and the guard assumed the kidnaping was staged as a way for Vidya and Prasad to keep her hidden somewhere. But the report lists the case as closed, with a link to another report.”

“Another report?”

“The next day, Vidya reported Prasad as missing. And that is the last record I could find of Vidya Vajhur anywhere.”

Ara chewed her lower lip. “It looks to me like Prasad ran away with Katsu.”

“He got away with it, too.”

“And then Vidya decided to disappear as well,” Ara said, thinking aloud. “But why? She hadn’t done anything wrong.”

“Maybe she wanted to escape further scrutiny,” Fen ventured. “The Unity was probably pressuring her to ‘confess’ to the whole thing when actually Prasad took off and left her holding the bag.”

“Possible,” Ara conceded. “She then moves to another part of the city and changes her name-not too hard with so many records damaged or destroyed in the Annexation. Now she can start over free and clear.”

“With her son Sejal.”

Ara thought for a moment. “Fen, when was Sejal born in relation to Prasad’s disappearance?”

Fen glanced at something in front of him. “Eight months afterward. Ah! There it is.”

“Yes.” Ara nodded. “Vidya was already pregnant again when Prasad vanished. She made herself disappear because she knew the child would be Silent and that the Unity would take him away. She didn’t want to lose him like she’d lost her husband and first three children.”

“Except,” Fen said, raising a finger, “I have Sejal’s medical history here. She couldn’t avoid doctors completely, and his gene scans indicate he is not Silent.”

Ara had to force herself not to jump to her feet. “What? I thought you said any child Vidya and Prasad had would be Silent.” Her mind raced. If Sejal wasn’t Silent, how had he possessed people? Had Kendi been wrong?

“Obviously Prasad isn’t Sejal’s father.”

“Or someone changed the records. Or bribed the doctor.”

Fen shook his head. “Extremely doubtful. Those records are strictly guarded. The best hackers on the planet couldn’t touch them. I also doubt Vidya could come up with a bigger bribe than the bonus doctors get for discovering Silent children.”

“You have a point,” Ara conceded. “It’s a puzzle, though. Can you netmail me copies of what you found, Fen?”

“Already did,” Fen answered. He leaned forward again, an anticipatory look on his face. “Now, tell me what you want all this for. You promised to explain later. It’s later.”

There was a hint of whine in his voice that suddenly annoyed Ara terribly. She wanted to comb Fen’s records herself and set Ben to finding what Fen had missed. She wanted to find Sejal and talk to him face-to-face. But Fen was staring at her from the viewscreen.

“I’m trading in genetics,” she said. “Viable embryos and such. Vidya and Sejal seem to be prospects.”

Fen whistled. “The paperwork on that must take you months.”

“It does,” Ara said shortly. “But it’s high profit, low volume. Can’t ask for more. Look, Fen, I have to-”

“This wouldn’t also have anything to do with that Silent everyone’s talking about around here, would it?”

Cold goosebumps rose on Ara’s neck. She went stock-still. “What Silent?” she asked casually.

Fen folded his arms. “The one they’ve posted a big reward for. Haven’t you been watching the news?”

“No,” Ara said faintly. “I haven’t had time.”

“There’s a powerful rogue Silent somewhere on Rust,” Fen said. “And the Unity wants him. Bad. Problem is, they don’t know what he looks like, or even if it’s a he. All they know is that he’s young and he’s somewhere on Rust. And now you’re here sniffing around this boy Sejal Dasa. A connection?”

Shit shit shit. Ara struggled to remain calm. “Coincidence, Fen. You just told me yourself Sejal isn’t Silent. I’m interested in his genetic potential.”

“I see.” Fen’s tone made it clear he didn’t believe her. Ara’s heart lurched. Would he turn her in? She couldn’t leave Rust without Sejal. And time was growing short. They had to get Sejal off Rust, and fast.

“Look, Fen, I have to go,” she told him. “What you told me about Sejal and Vidya changes things, and I have people to contact. I really appreciate your help.”

“So when do we take our walk?”

Ara blinked at him. “Walk?”

“On the seapad. Remember? My price for helping you? How about tomorrow?”

Ara felt genuinely flustered. Not because Fen was pressing her for a romantic interlude, but because of its timing. So much was happening now and so quickly, the question felt out of place. Once she got Sejal on board, Ara intended to hurl the ship into slipspace as soon as humanly possible.

So promise him, she told herself. Even assuming you’re around long enough for him to cash in on it and if he lays a hand on you, all you have to do is give him one hard push and he’s sea monster meat.

“Tomorrow it is,” Ara agreed. “Why don’t we meet at the restaurant at seven?”

A huge smile spread across Fen’s wizened face. “See you then. Glory to the Unity.” And he signed off.

Ara was getting immensely tired of that phrase.

“Peggy-Sue,” she said. “Open intercom to Ben Rymar. Ben, can you raise Kendi?”

“I’m not on the bridge, Mother,” Ben replied. “Let me get up there first.”

Ara sat back and thought while she waited. Stress tugged at her gut, but she pushed it firmly aside. They were doing all they could to find Sejal, and the Children still had the best chance of getting to him first.

Vidya “Dasa” Prasad had voluntarily given up her children. Ara shook her head. How could she do such a thing? Unbidden, Ara’s mind flicked back to Ben’s implantation. Five years after Benjamin Heller’s death, Ara had become aware of a growing desire-need-for a child. She had told herself she was being ridiculous. She was Mother Araceil Rymar of the Children of Irfan, youngest person ever to attain that title, with a clear shot at also being the youngest to make Mother Adept. She was powerful in the Dream, had personally taught half a dozen students, was a widely-recognized expert in transcendental morphic Dream theory. Her life was full, she was busy, her friends and students loved her. She didn’t need anything.

But Mother Araceil Rymar of the Children of Irfan wanted a baby.

Still, Ara put off the idea another year, until a casual conversation with Mother Adept Salman Reza, Ara’s own mother, changed her mind.

“I don’t need a baby right now,” Ara complained. “But-oh, Mother-I want one like you wouldn’t believe.”

“Well that’s the key right there,” Salman said. “Those who need children make poor parents. Those who want them make fine ones.”

It seemed as if the universe were siding with Ara’s mother. Two days later, Ara and her compatriots were encased in vacuum suits, inspecting a derelict ship they had found while tracking down rumors of an illegal Silent slave ring. The ship orbited the moon of a gas giant and appeared to have taken heavy damage in a firefight. It was Ara’s guess that the ship had been transporting Silent slaves and had run afoul of other pirates. The ship was completely empty. Cargo and crew had either been evacuated, captured, or blown into space. Ara had just been about to leave the cargo hold when she came across a star-shaped metallic object the size of a basketball. It lay forgotten in a corner. She caught her breath, recognizing it as a cryo-module for embryos. The readout said they had been frozen in the same year Benjamin Heller had died.

Back on her own ship, a medical scan revealed that the module contained eighty-seven embryos, a dozen of which were still viable, and all of which carried the genes for Silence. Grandfather Melthine, Ara’s superior, was uncertain what to do with the embryos once Ara returned with them to Bellerophon. They could not be placed in artificial wombs and grown to maturation-it was well established that Silent fetuses invariably withered and died under such conditions. And were they Silent children waiting to be born, or simple clumps of cells? Hundreds of years of debate hadn’t changed-or solved-the issue. In the end, Melthine ordered the embryos placed in storage until someone could come up with a solution he liked.

Ara decided to end the debate for at least one embryo.

“Do you want a daughter or a son?” asked the doctor on the day of implantation.

“Let the universe decide,” Ara replied, and grinned as the doctor dramatically covered his eyes with one hand and plucked a tube from the module. Nine months later, Benjamin Rymar was born, red hair, blue eyes, and all. Ara held him tight and whispered happy greetings in his tiny ear.

As time passed, Ara discovered motherhood wasn’t exactly what she had expected. In some ways it was more, and in other ways it was less. She exchanged field work for teaching and was surprised at how little she regretted it. There was laughing and singing, night feedings and toilet training, sleepovers and bullies. Ben’s speech developed late, as was expected of a Silent child, but Ben’s tenth birthday came and went, and Ben showed no awareness of the Dream, no ability to hear the little whispers from the minds that created it. A worried Ara ordered batteries of tests. The monks who conducted them, however, could only shake their heads. Genetically Ben was Silent, but some unknown factor of environment kept him from expressing that trait.

Guilt had weighed Ara down for months. Had she done something wrong while she was pregnant? Was it something she had done or said to him? In the end, she’d been forced to accept that there was no way to tell. For all she knew, it was a side-effect of being frozen as an embryo for so many years. She supposed that it didn’t really matter. Ara wouldn’t have traded Ben for a truly Silent child, nor would she have given him up. Not after she had fought so hard to have him in the first place.

So how could Vidya give her babies to the Unity? And would her history make her easier or harder to persuade? The memory of a crackling energy whip played across Ara’s mind, and she had the sinking feeling it would be harder.