Nightmare

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The tiny Guardian ship popped out of slipspace a respectable fifty thousand kilometers from the space station headquarters of Dreamers, Inc. Alarms beeped and Tan’s fingers darted dextrously over the boards, informing the station who they were and that they did indeed have permission to hold their current position. Ara, meanwhile, radioed the docking authority to double-check their authorization. Everything was in order, as were the reservations for their accommodations. Ara relaxed, only then realizing that she had been worried that some bureaucratic snafu would strand them without a place to dock or sleep.

"Docking in two hours," Tan reported from the pilot’s chair.

Ara nodded and punched up an external visual on her monitor. It was a relief to see stars and blackness out there instead of the nauseating whirl of slipspace. The Guardian slipship was cramped and tiny-the bridge was barely big enough for two people-and there was little to do on board. Fortunately the little ship was also fast. That and good slipspace conditions had gotten them to the station in just under eighteen hours.

Ara trained one of the cameras on the station and beefed up the magnification, more for something to do than anything else. The station orbited an ocean-covered planet with a few flyspeck islands and wide swaths of white clouds, and the thing was a real hodgepodge. Giant squares and enormous spheres were stuck together or connected by cylinders like tinkertoys assembled by a madman. The entire station probably massed as much as a small moon. Ships of varying sizes drifted, darted, or lumbered through open spaces. Ara shook her head. She hadn’t visited Dreamers, Inc., in over three years, but the station had rearranged itself in even that short time so that she barely recognized it. Dreamers had more money than even a multi-system corporation could burn, and Ara suspected the corp conducted the almost continual redecoration simply because it could.

Tan maneuvered the ship closer, and a voice came over the communication system. "You are authorized to use Dock 14-212-C. Please follow the course outlined. For safety reasons, deviation is not allowed and will result in immediate confiscation of your entire ship. Do you understand? By answering affirmatively, you agree to waive all right to liability, damages, or indemnity to your ship, cargo, crew, and passengers."

"I understand," Tan said.

A live holographic image of the station appeared over Tan’s board with a bright orange line indicating the course she was to take. It dipped and swooped like a drunken piece of spaghetti, and Ara could only assume it was intended to keep them from colliding with other ships.

"For a small fee," the voice continued, "you can slave your navigation computer to ours and we will guide your ship in for you."

"No thank you," Tan said. "We’ll take it from here."

"As you wish. By proceeding further, you waive all right to-"

Tan shut the communicator off.

"Thank you," Ara said.

Tan grunted and turned her concentration to her flying. The station rushed up and down, swooped and turned. Other ships brushed the flight path but never quite came close enough to hit them. Eventually, the ship nosed against a dock and Ara heard the clamps thunk into place. She and Tan retrieved their carryalls and, glad to be freed of the cramped ship, hurried through the airlock and into the main station. Ara asked the local computer for directions and discovered that they were quite a distance from the office of Ken Rashid, Chief of Security. The computer offered directions and a map-for a fee. Ara sighed and paid for both after agreeing that the map was for informational purposes only and she would not hold Dreamers, Inc., responsible for any damages incurred as a result of following its directions.

"I begin to see how this corporation makes its money," Tan said dryly.

After some searching, they found a transportation center and hired a cab driver to take them where they needed to go.

"First time on the Station?" asked their driver, a small, weasel-faced man complete with scraggly, whisker-like mustache.

"No," Tan said, giving him the map. "Here’s where we need to go."

And that was the end of the conversation. The driver punched buttons, muttered to his on-board computer, and the little electric car shot forward, pressing Ara into the seat.

The interior of the station was as hodgepodge as the exterior. Tunnels ranged from high, wide spaces to low, cramped rabbit warrens. Decor rambled like a patchwork quilt. Through the cab windows Ara saw crowded streets, Greek architecture, a Chinese palace, lush jungle, and stark white hallway. Some areas were clearly residences of wealthy corp officers. Other areas were so dark and crowded, Ara quietly locked her door. Humans seemed to be the dominant species, but only barely. Everywhere Ara looked she saw a new alien race. They ran, hopped, slithered, glided, stomped, and squished their way up and down the corridors and streets. Some sectors, in fact, seemed completely devoid of anything humanoid. All of them were in some way connected to Dreamers, Inc., Ara knew, though not all of the people were Silent, just as it was back on Bellerophon.

It took over an hour to arrive at the main security offices. They were a series of blocky, unimaginative-looking buildings with thick columns out front. Tan paid and dismissed the driver, then headed up the high front steps with Ara close behind her. Groups of beings, both human and non-, were scattered up and down the stairs, their voices combining in a strange cacophony of sound. The station ceiling was at least a dozen stories up, so far off it looked to Ara like a smooth, cloudy sky. The air was odorless, dry, and a little chillier than Ara liked, and she was thankful she had brought a jacket.

The foyer was a big, echoing chamber with polished marble floors. The beings hurrying through it spoke in hushed voices. Ara consulted a directory and found that Chief Rashid’s offices was on the fifth floor and that the elevators were off to his left.

"He has an entire suite," Tan murmured as they moved toward them.

"I noticed," Ara said. "You know, Dreamers, Inc., is three or four times bigger than the Children. The post of Chief of Security for them would probably be something like the post of Secretary of Planetary Defense anywhere else."

"I was thinking the same thing," Tan agreed. "The fact that we talked to him personally in the Dream says something. So does the fact that we’re getting in to see him right away."

"What does it all say?"

"No idea."

The elevator took them straight to the fifth floor. An immensely tall human woman dressed in a pastel blue suit met them as they disembarked.

"Mother Araceil Rymar and Inspector Lewa Tan," she said, and it wasn’t a question. "I am Denisa Ral, Chief Rashid’s executive secretary. He is waiting to see you." She ushered them through a series of offices and corridors, all well-lit, lushly carpeted, and decorated with holographic windows that pretended to offer scenes ranging from mountains to forests to jungles to sandy beaches. Ara wondered how Ral had known who they were and that they were on that particular elevator, then laughed at her own naivete. Rashid had probably been keeping an eye on them since their ship slid out of slipspace.

Eventually Denisa Ral lead them to an immense set of double doors made of polished oak. They swung wide at her touch, revealing a huge office beyond. One entire wall was a window that looked out on empty space. At the bottom corner lay a portion of the planet, a blue crescent against utter black. The room was furnished like a wealthy person’s living room, with designer furniture, spotlessly shined woodwork tables, and even a fireplace. A hint of wood smoke on the air indicated that it was a real one. Ara was impressed-attaining the wood and disposing of the smoke would be expensive undertakings, not to mention the amount of oxygen a fire sucked up.

Set against the window was an enormous desk. Ken Rashid, his silvering black hair blending in with the scene behind him, came around it as Ara and Tan entered the office. Denisa Ral closed the doors behind them. Rashid bowed slightly to each of them.

"It’s nice to meet you in person," he said. "Forgive me not shaking hands, but in my current position I can only allow certain people the ability to locate me when I am in the Dream. If you are hungry or thirsty, refreshments are over there." He gestured to a table littered with an assortment of snacks and beverages. A wet bar stood in the corner. "Perhaps we should begin?"

"Yes. And since we’re being direct," Tan said, "I have to ask, Chief Rashid-why are you seeing us? Your schedule must be insanely busy. It would be easy enough to assign this to a subordinate."

Rashid’s expression went rigid for a moment and Ara thought Tan had offended him. Something flashed in his eyes, and Ara remembered the same thing happening when they had spoken in the Dream. Then Rashid passed a tired hand over his face and his expression softened.

"There were four victims here on Dream Station," he said. "Polly Garvin, Minn Araq, Riann Keller, and Liss Padel. Liss Padel was my wife."

"I’m sorry," Tan said softly.

He nodded. "It was a decade ago. I usually think I’m past it, then something happens to remind me of her and I learn I’m not. Usually what I feel is anger. The bastard that killed her is walking around free. I was removed from the case, of course-conflict of interest-but it didn’t matter. No more victims showed up. We never learned who did it. Ten years later, I get a message from an old friend that two monks from Bellerophon are looking for a killer who chops off fingers. I think you now understand how the Chief of Security for Dreamers, Inc., found time to see you." Rashid gave a wan smile. "But I’m being rude. Please come and sit."

He ushered them to a group of cushioned highback chairs that huddled around the fireplace. The top of the chair was at least two heads higher than Ara’s head once she sat down, and she rather felt like a child sitting in an adult seat. A round end table held a lamp and a box of chocolates. Ara thought about reaching for one, then flashed back to Iris Temm’s house and the single chocolate missing from the box. Her appetite left her and she drew out her computer pad instead. Tan and Rashid took seats as well.

"Did the murders take place on Dream Station?" Ara asked.

"All four," Rashid said, and then suddenly bounded to his feet. "God, I need something. Can you excuse me for just a moment?" Without waiting for a reply, he went over to the mantle and opened an intricately-carved wooden box. From it he withdrew a brown cylinder a little thinner than a finger. He waved it, and one end glowed. A curl of smoke trickled upward and Ara smelled it, harsh and acrid. Rashid put the other end to his mouth and inhaled. Ara couldn’t keep from staring. She had heard about this habit but had never seen it in action. Rashid noticed her gaze.

"An expensive vice," he said, "especially on a station. But someone in my position is allowed a few indulgences. Would you like to try one?"

"Thank you, no," Ara said.

"It’s not Thursday," Tan murmured, and Ara shot her a hard look.

Rashid took his seat again and tapped the ash into a crystal receptacle. Cigarettes, Ara remembered. They were called cigarettes. "Shall I begin or should you?"

"Let’s start with our end," Tan said. "Then you can tell us what you know and we can examine each other’s files."

Rashid waved his cigarette, leaving a trail of smoke in assent.

"A little over two years ago," Tan began, "a Silent Sister named Prinna Meg was found dead. Levels of psytonin in her brain indicated she was in the Dream when she died. Her body was found with bruises and abrasions-indications of psychosomatic trauma. Her left little finger was cut off. Sewn to the stump was the finger of another woman, someone we still haven’t identified. There were no witnesses to Meg’s death in the Dream or in the solid world. A search of her house uncovered no significant clues. We took pictures and holographic images of everything anyway."

Rashid blew out a cloud of smoke. Ara found the smell dry and cloying but didn’t feel it was proper to say anything. She tried to breathe shallowly.

"About a year after that-I can give you an exact number of days, if you like-Sister Wren Hamil was also found dead. Circumstances were the exactly same. Killer cut off her left little finger post-mortem and sewed Meg’s finger on in its place. Eleven months later, Sister Iris Temm turned up dead in her home. Hamil’s finger was sewn to her left hand. At this point, we knew what we were dealing with and we brought in Mother Ara here."

"To what end?" Rashid tapped his cigarette ash into the crystal receptacle again. "My sources-and yes, I did check up on you both-indicate that you, Mother Ara, are not an investigator."

"I was brought in as a consultant in morphic Dream theory," Ara said. "I can sometimes recreate other people’s scenes in the Dream."

Rashid’s dark eyes glittered and he leaned forward. "Ah! So you recreated the murder, then. Did you see the killer?"

"Yes and no," Ara said. "I saw the murderer do his work. He killed Iris by bringing her Dream landscape to life. He appeared to her as a man dressed in black with a wide-brimmed hat that left his face in shadow. I wasn’t able to see his face."

"So his Dream form is different from his solid one," Rashid mused.

"After he killed Iris," Ara continued, "he cut off her finger and used it to write the number twelve on her forehead. We’re assuming he’s numbering his victims." Ara’s stomach began to churn. Memories of all the corpses she had seen, both Dream and solid, swirled through her mind and combined with the cigarette smoke to nauseating affect. She forced herself to go on. "We know the killer is powerful in the Dream. Not only does his mind overpower those of his victims, he also recreates their landscapes and their corpses, keeping the scene ‘alive’ even after the originating Silent is dead. I didn’t even notice a transitional waver between Iris’s death and the killer’s recreation." She stood up. "I think I need something to drink."

Rashid started to rise. "What would you like?"

"If that’s the bar over there, I can get it," Ara said almost shortly. "Inspector Tan can continue."

"Things get a little more complicated after this," Tan began as Ara headed for the bar and Rashid resumed his seat. "About nine months after Iris Temm died, the killer murdered Mother Diane Giday. But we didn’t find the body until after he took another victim-Vera Cheel. So we found them out of order. That confused us for a while because Cheel was wearing a finger we couldn’t identify. Only two weeks had gone by between the murders of Giday and Cheel."

"So the killer is escalating," Rashid said. He ground his cigarette out.

"Looks that way," Tan agreed. "We weren’t able to recreate Giday’s murder in the Dream, but with Vera Cheel we got a break."

Ara sniffed the contents of three decanters before she found the brandy. She sloshed a healthy dollop into a glass and started back toward the trio of chairs. On the way, she impulsively hooked a small plate of canapes. Did Rashid always have this sort of thing just sitting out, or was it there because he knew Ara and Tan were coming?

"What sort of break?" Rashid asked.

"A witness."

Rashid bolted upright. "Someone who saw the actual murder in the Dream? Who?"

"One of my students happened on it by sheer chance." Ara settled in her chair and took a sip of brandy. It was light and dry, and it burned pleasantly all the way down until it outlined her stomach in warmth. She let it settle a moment before describing what Kendi had experienced. During the retelling she had to pause for two more sips of brandy.

"Unfortunately," she concluded, "none of this gave us a clue to the killer’s true identity."

"At first," Tan put in, and Ara thankfully let her take over the narrative again. She settled back into her chair and popped a salmon-cream cheese puff into her mouth. It was delicately and perfectly seasoned.

"After Mother Ara had a chance to investigate the solid-world murder scenes," Tan continued, "she noticed something. Each of the victims had received a gift before she died. We assume it came from the killer. The gifts were always some sort of love token that came in a set that matched the victim’s number. Iris Temm, the twelfth victim, received a box of twelve chocolates. Vera Cheel, victim number thirteen, received thirteen roses, and so on. After the killer did his work, he took a single token back, so Temm’s chocolate box had one missing, for example."

"Strange," Rashid murmured. Ara tried to read his expression and found she couldn’t.

"But that’s not all he took," Tan said. "He also took some sort of intimate object-a pair of panties, an earring, a shoe."

"A finger," Rashid said grimly.

"Until recently we also had no suspects, but then things changed." Tan remained still and upright in her chair, reciting the story as if she were a recording. "A student at the monastery recently exhibited strange behavior-irrationality, wide behavioral changes, alterations in word use-and then she attacked another student."

"My son," Ara put in.

"After the attack, she disappeared," Tan said. "When we searched her room, we found a shirt with Diane Giday’s blood on the sleeve. Unfortunately, we haven’t been able to locate this student."

"She," Rashid said. Ara had expected him to get excited that they had a suspect, but he seemed perfectly calm. "You think the killer is a woman? The one you showed me in the Dream?"

"We aren’t sure," Tan admitted. "Her disappearance is highly suspect, of course. So is the blood on her shirt cuff. But as Mother Ara once pointed out, a smart killer-as this one seems to be-wouldn’t keep a shirt that might have picked up the victim’s blood. She may have disappeared because she was murdered by our real killer, who’s trying to throw us off the trail. In any case, we’re still trying to find her so we can have a chat."

"I see," Rashid said. "I think it’s obvious we’re both looking for the same person, in any case. I notice that your victims are all Silent women connected to your organization. Since some carried the title ‘Mother’ and others the title ‘Sister,’ I assume their ages varied. This fits the profile of our victims as well-females of varying ages connected with our organization. Did your victims have any connections with each other? Common friends or people they knew on the job?"

Tan shook her head, making her long braid whisk back and forth like a broom. "We checked extensively. Nothing came up. What about yours?"

"Only one," Rashid said. "Polly Garvin, the first victim, was an acquaintance of Riann Keller, the third victim. But we weren’t able to draw any other connections. Perhaps we should trade files and see what we find."

Computer pads came out and the transfers were made. Ara nibbled on more salmon-cream cheese canapes and glanced about the luxurious office before opening anything.

What a place this would be to work, she thought. A view of the universe and people to make you little dainties. Then she remembered the dark, narrow warrens that probably made up the majority of the residences and workplaces on Dream Station. Slavery was perfectly legal here, and Dreamers, Inc., owned many thousand of them, some Silent, some not. It might be fine here for the people on top, but the ones holding up the bottom had a hard time of it.

With a sigh, Ara opened the file on Riann Keller’s death. Tan and Rashid were already reading silently, pictures and text mixing on their holographic screens. Tan pointed to one part of a picture and it magnified. Ara caught a glimpse of a pair of dead, filmy eyes staring at nothing. She shuddered. Someone-Dorna? — had left a trail of death and sorrow across an entire galaxy.

A pile of text appeared on Ara’s screen and she found she couldn’t bring herself to read closely. Too much pain, too much sorrow, too much death. How did Tan deal with this? Although the Dream stalker was Bellerophon’s first recorded serial killer, Treetop City and the other city-states had their share of violent crime. Otherwise the Guardians wouldn’t exist.

Ara’s eye wandered across the text, not lighting long enough to read more than a word here or a phrase there.

…psytonin levels indicate. .

…complete loss of. .

…suspect must have attacked the victim. .

…named Dorna, and a son. .

…found approximately two hours after. .

Ara gasped and scrolled frantically backward. Had she seen-yes, there it was. The victim had two children, a daughter named Dorna and a son named Cole.

It suddenly occurred to Ara that she and Tan had never mentioned Dorna’s name to Rashid. There was so much information to trade, it was easy to leave things out, even obvious facts. Ara called for Tan and Rashid’s attention and quickly explained.

"I remember the daughter," Rashid said excitedly. "Is there an image of her in your files? The image you showed me in the Dream was too wavery for a good identification."

Tan called it up for him. Dorna’s head and shoulders appeared, her identification holo for the monastery. Rashid studied it a moment, then addressed the computer. "Reverse aging on this holograph ten years."

Dorna’s face changed. Her cheeks became rounder, her features larger, until she looked to be fifteen or sixteen. Rashid’s eyes glittered. "That’s her! That’s Rhiann Keller’s daughter."

"So she is the killer," Ara murmured. She should have been glad, even excited, at the confirmation, but all she felt was a lingering disappointment.

"Who was the father?" Tan asked.

"None on record," Rashid said. "We do know, however, that Rhiann Keller was known for having many …casual male acquaintances."

"Let’s draw a scenario, then." Tan cracked her knuckles, the first time Ara had seen her do such a thing. "According to my sources, serial murderers and people with multiple personalities are always abused-even tortured-as children. That’s why some of them kill, displacing anger from their parents to innocent bystanders. Dorna Keller was one of these, abused by her mother. As she grew older, she took Polly Garvin-a friend of her mother’s-as her first victim because Garvin was available, easy to get to. Then she stalked and killed Minn Araq before getting up the courage to kill her mother Riann Keller. But naturally that didn’t satisfy her. It never does. So she killed Liss Padel. But then what happened to her?"

Rashid was holding himself rigid in his chair, clearly controlling both pain and anger. Ara wanted to say something to him, but something made her hold back. She suspected Rashid no longer wanted sympathy. He was seeking justice-or revenge.

"It’s in the file," Rashid said. "Riann Keller had a gambling problem and a history of petty theft and larceny. We were about to fire her, even though she was Silent. She signed a contract with Silent Acquisitions."

"Slavers?" Ara said incredulously. "What for?"

"Her children," Rashid said in a flat voice. "Dorna and her brother Cole were both Silent. It’s legal here to sell yourself or your underage children into slavery, and it appears that Riann Keller needed to clear a few debts with some …unsavory moneylenders."

Ara’s blood chilled. Her mind wouldn’t quite accept the idea. Selling your children into slavery to cover your own mistakes? She tried to imagine fastening a shackle on Ben’s wrist and ankle before handing him over to a total stranger. The picture wouldn’t come.

"Riann was killed two days after signing the contract," Rashid concluded. "At first we thought her death might be connected to the local underworld, but the missing and reappearing finger belayed that."

"Why didn’t she try to sell them to Dreamers, Inc.?" Tan asked.

"I’m not sure," Rashid said. "There’s no record of her making an offer. It may be that their continued presence on Dream Station would remind her of what she had done, or perhaps she thought she would get more from Silent Acquisitions."

Ara took another sip of brandy, trying to push away the images of a woman coolly selling her own flesh and blood.

"So if we add this to our working scenario," Tan said, "it may explain how Dorna got up the courage to kill her mother-she was spurred by the news of her sale. Chief Rashid, when did your wife die in relation to Riann Keller?"

Rashid’s face looked carved from stone. "Five days. We wondered about that. Several months passed between the other murders, but Liss was killed less than a week after Riann."

"More rage," Ara murmured. "She killed her mother, but was still too angry to hold off killing again. She slowed down after that, you’ll notice. Liss was the fourth victim, and Prinna Meg was the tenth, if the numbering is accurate. That means that in the last ten years, she ‘only’ killed five other people."

Tan toyed with her braid. "This doesn’t help us find Dorna. And none of it-except maybe the blood-is hard proof. Any decent defense lawyer would serve our heads to the judge. Chief Rashid, are there any files on Dorna? School records and such things? We might get an idea from them."

Rashid was tapping at his pad when Ara felt something brush her mind.

— Ara,~ came a familiar voice. ~Ara, can you hear me?~

Startled, Ara sat upright. ~Ched-Hisak? What’s going on?~

— Your student Kendi wants to see you in the Dream. He asked me to contact you because he has not yet learned to do so. According to him, the matter is urgent, and I agree. Can you come?~

Ara glanced at Rashid. Tan was peering over his shoulder at the data on his pad. Her first instinct was to dismiss Kendi, but another, more reasonable, voice told her she should listen.

— Give me a few moments,~ she said. Ched-Hisak’s presence left her mind and Ara got up.

"I need to go into the Dream," she said. "My student-the one who witnessed the murder-wants to talk to me. May I use that couch over there?"

"Please," Rashid said absently, eyes glued to the display.

"What’s going on?" Tan asked.

"I’ll tell you as soon as I find out," Ara replied. She crossed to the sofa, lay down, and drew out her dermospray. After a moment, colors swirled behind her eyelids. Tan and Rashid’s conversation dwindled into the distance. The last thing she heard was Tan’s puzzled voice.

"Look here," she said. "Cole Keller got in trouble twice for setting the school restroom on fire. That’s also a symptom of …"

The fountain sprayed high into the air, which was delicately scented with orange blossoms. Ara perched on the lip of her fountain and a moment later she felt another knock, this one infused with a question.

"Of course," she said aloud. "Please come."

Ched-Hisak and Kendi appeared before her in a rush of Dream energy. Kendi instantly fell retching to hands and knees. Ara knelt beside him. She had forgotten that he hadn’t yet learned to adjust to instant transport within the Dream.

"It’s all right," she soothed in her best mother voice. "Just try to breathe."

Eventually the heaving subsided and Kendi let Ara help him to his feet. Ched-Hisak waited patiently as Ara conjured up a glass of water for Kendi. He accepted it gratefully, face pale.

"We still have to work on that," she said. "Now-what’s so important?"

Excited color returned to Kendi’s face and tossed the glass over his shoulder. It vanished before it hit the grass. "It’s Dorna," he said. "She didn’t do. I have proof."

Ara thought about what she and Tan had learned in Rashid’s office. "Kendi, I’m sorry, but I just don’t have time for this. I’m sitting in the office of the station’s Security Chief, and his time is-"

"Just listen, will you?" Kendi pleaded. "I have evidence."

"He is correct," Ched-Hisak put in. "I would listen."

That checked Ara. "All right," she said. "Go."

"Okay, the drug that gets us each into the Dream," Kendi said. "It’s tailored, right? Each person has their own mixture, and no one else can use it. One Child’s drug won’t work for another."

"I know this, Kendi," Ara said. "What does it-"

"I’m just setting the stage," Kendi insisted. "Okay, we don’t have to pay for the drug, but the Children do keep track of how much you use, and for students they do more than that. A student dermospray has a microtransmitter that alerts the dispensary whenever we use a dose so our teachers can keep track of how often we practice in the Dream."

"Right, right," Ara said, barely concealing her impatience.

"Just before Vera Cheel was killed," Kendi said triumphantly, "Dorna didn’t use her dermospray."

Ara blinked but didn’t answer.

"I know this," Kendi went on, "because she was between fill-ups. I remember she mentioned it when she and the others came over to play hide and seek. She said she’d been out for two days but kept forgetting to go down the dispensary for more, and it was during those two days that Vera was killed. When I remembered this, I asked the clerk at the dispensary to look up Dorna’s record, but he wouldn’t do it until Father Ched-Hisak and Inspector Gray got permission. That took a whole day. Otherwise I would have tried to talk to you earlier."

"And the records confirmed that Dorna hadn’t used her dermospray?"

Kendi shook his head. "She hadn’t. And she hadn’t used it anytime before Iris and Prinna were killed, either. We checked. And there’s no way she could enter the Dream without using her drugs."

"She could have gotten them from somewhere else," Ara said doubtfully, "or used a different dermospray."

"This is unlikely," put in Ched-Hisak with a bob of his head. "Her dermospray would have registered the transaction if she had moved her drug, and there is nowhere on Bellerophon that could mix her exact drug cocktail unless they had her medical records. A black market for Dream drugs does not exist-they have no effect on the non-Silent and or on Silent for whom they are not designed."

"True," Ara admitted, and she let a tiny blossom of hope bloom in her chest. "But that leaves an awful lot unexplained. We found the blood of one of the victims on a shirt in Dorna’s room."

"You did?" Kendi said, surprised. "Well, maybe the killer planted it there. But still …"

"What?" Ara asked.

"There’s something else," Kendi said. "It happened right after you left. Ben and I-that is, I-invited a few people over that evening, and-"

"You had a party?" Ara growled. "I don’t recall giving you permission to have-"

"You said the more people who were around me and Ben, the better," Kendi said loftily. "I was just doing what you said."

"I didn’t say that-never mind. We’ll discuss that later. What happened?"

"Dorna showed up," Kendi said, and explained in detail. "She blamed the killings on someone named Cole. We figure he’s one of her alternate personalities, but if Dorna didn’t use her dermospray before any of the killings, she-or he-couldn’t have-"

Ara stiffened. "What was the person’s name? The one Dorna said killed people?"

"Actually it wasn’t Dorna talking," Kendi said. "It was a personality named Violet. She seemed nice until I grabbed her, and then I think she switched to another-"

"Kendi," Ched-Hisak interrupted. "Mother Ara asked of you a question."

"Oh. Sorry," Kendi said. "What was it?"

"What was the name of the person Dorna said was killing people?" Ara repeated.

"Cole," Kendi said. "She blamed the killings on someone named Cole."

Ara blinked. "That’s the name of Dorna’s brother."

"She has a brother?" Kendi said. "Where is he?"

"Let me see if I can find out," Ara said. "Give me a moment." She closed her eyes and felt around the Dream. After a moment, she found Lewa Tan’s solid-world mind nearby. Ara reached for it and gently knocked.

— Yes?~ came Tan’s mental voice.

Ara quickly explained what Kendi had told her. ~Do you know where Cole is now?~

Excitement rippled across Tan’s mind like the smell of cinnamon. ~There’s information on him in the file. Listen to this-his school record says he set the bathroom on fire. Twice. Another time he was cited for setting a cat on fire. Arson and cruelty to animals are both hallmarks of a serial killer. Dorna isn’t our killer. Cole is.~

— But what’s Dorna’s connection, then?~ Ara said. But even as she spoke it fell into place. ~They’re a team. Cole kills them in the Dream and Dorna cuts off fingers in the solid world.~

— Which would explain the spot of blood on Dorna’s sleeve and how the victims died even though Dorna hadn’t entered the Dream,~ Tan said. ~Okay, okay. Let me talk this out.~ Brief pause. ~Dorna and Cole. Both abused as kids. Dorna develops multiple personality disorder, Cole becomes a sociopath. Cole is a coward but also a dominator who needs to control. It’s why he kills-he’s trying to control his victims and he kills them when they don’t fall in line. He also dominates his sister Dorna. They’re both Silent, so when dear old Mom sells them off as slaves and they’re split up, they can keep in contact. Cole stays aloof and remote, ruling and killing from the Dream because it’s safe there. He bullies his sister-or one of her personalities-into doing the dirty, bloody work in the solid world.~

Ara nodded, though Tan couldn’t see her. ~This complicates everything. Back when we thought Dorna was the killer, we at least knew what planet she was on. But Cole could be anywhere in the galaxy. How are we going to track him down?~

— Sales records are the best bet,~ Tan said. ~Once we explain why we want him, even the anonymous sales people will probably open their records to us. All we have to do is threaten to spread word through the Dream that they bought and sold a serial killer. They’ll cave in or watch their business dry up.~

— You’re evil,~ Ara observed. ~I like that.~

— Cole is younger than Dorna by about two years,~ Tan said. ~So he’d be about twenty-four. Want me to come in there and start looking?~

— I can handle this end,~ Ara told her, secretly glad to be out of Rashid’s office and away from files full of pain and death. ~You keep trading notes with Rashid and see if anything else comes up. I’ll get started with Silent Acquisitions right now and let you know what turns up.~

They parted company and Ara opened her eyes. Kendi sat on the grass of the pleasure garden, drumming his fingers impatiently on his thighs. On Ara’s turf he was dressed in a long linen shirt, loose scarlet pants, and a matching scarlet fez hat. Ara thought he looked rather dashing. Ched-Hisak was nowhere to be seen.

"He said he had stuff to do," Kendi said in answer to her unspoken question. "So what did Inspector Tan say?"

Ara recited the conversation word-for-word. Kendi listened raptly, his face a picture of awe.

"How did you do that?" he demanded. "You even imitated her voice."

"Training, O my apprentice," Ara said. "You’ll learn to do the same thing. Come on-we have some slavers to bully."

"Can we walk, please?" Kendi asked. "I don’t want to barf my guts out on someone else’s turf."

"We do have to work on that," Ara sighed. "It’s not normal. But yes, we can walk. This way."

A few moments later, they were standing before the same chrome desk on the same blue carpet Ara had seen before. The Silent Acquisitions sign indicated the company was willing to meet Ara’s needs, though she had her doubts on that score. The same red cone-shaped alien-or perhaps another member of the same species-greeted Ara and Kendi with the same cold pudding voice Ara had heard before.

"Are either or both of you connected with the Children of Irfan?"

"We are investigating a series of Silent murders," Ara told the creature, "and we have evidence that the killer came through your slave warehouses. I need to speak with someone immediately."

The creature’s expression, if it had one, didn’t change. Instead it said, "One moment," and vanished, taking the reception area with it and leaving Ara and Kendi standing on an empty plain. Whether the creature had left the Dream entirely or simply gone to another part of it, Ara didn’t know.

A few moments later, another office appeared. This one had red carpet, scarlet wallpaper, and red plush furniture. Even the woodwork and the tables were red. Standing in front of the cherry wood desk was a rather pudgy man wearing a kimono of embroidered red silk. Kendi rubbed his eyes.

"Fashion pain," he muttered, and Ara nudged him.

"I am Sales Manager Leethe," the pudgy man said. His tone made it clear that although he hadn’t made up his mind about Ara and Kendi, he was inclined toward hostility. "How may I help you?"

"My name is Mother Araceil Rymar of the Children of Irfan," Ara said. "This is my student Kendi Weaver. I am investigating a series of murders on the planet Bellerophon. So far over a dozen Silent women have been murdered in the Dream, and we have uncovered evidence that indicates the killer was sold through your company. I would like to see the sales records."

"Quite impossible," Leethe said. "Our sales records are confidential."

Ara’s temper started to boil. Women were being murdered-another could go at any time, in fact-and this little man was citing confidentiality? Images of Iris Temm and Vera Cheel, torn and bloody, swam before her and mixed with Diane Giday’s rotting corpse. She drew breath to snap out a reply, then carefully let it out. Kendi’s eyes were on her.

Serene must you ever remain, she told herself. Serene, serene, serene.

"I’m not sure you fully understand the situation, Manager Leethe," Ara said. "This person has tortured and murdered fourteen Silent women in the Dream. Five of them were monks at our monastery."

"The problems of the Children of Irfan are of no concern to this company," Leethe said, smoothing his scarlet kimono. For a moment, Ara expected the red color to come off on his hands like blood. "You and your kind cost us millions in revenue every year with your lying, thieving ways. If Emperor Bolivar and Empress Kalii hadn’t granted you protection, we would have-"

Ara raised her hand. A bolt of lightning cracked from her fist and smashed a hole in the ceiling. Kendi gasped and leaped back. Leethe went pale.

"How-how dare you attack my turf," he sputtered. "Empress or not, you’ll hear about-"

"Shut up," Ara snapped. There was a time for serenity and a time for anger. "Let’s get a few things clear, Manager. First, the fact that I could crack your ceiling proves that I’m stronger in the Dream than you are, and that means you’re going to listen. Second, if you don’t cooperate with me, I will see to it that every corner of the universe hears about how Silent Acquisitions withheld information in order to protect a killer of Silent. Of Silent, Manager. How many customers will you lose and how many Silent will refuse to cooperate with your company when word of this gets around? Third, there is something you are going to see, whether you want to or not."

Before Leethe could say a word, Ara reached into the Dream around them and twisted. A blindfold appeared over Kendi’s eyes and earplugs stopped his ears. He tried to pull them off. Ara could feel his resistance, but although he was strong-perhaps even stronger than she-he didn’t have her decades of experience. Leethe’s Dream office resisted Ara’s touch, but his power was nowhere near Ara’s, and his office melted and reformed under her anger. She snapped her fingers. Abruptly they were standing in a dead, black forest. A ghostly Temm ran screaming, and the branches tore her to pieces. Ara gestured, and the Dream changed again. Vera Cheel, transparent and wavery, sat wrapped in heavy chains on her sofa, scarlet blood pouring from a hundred wounds. A shadowy man in black chopped her finger off and wrote a number in blood on her forehead. Leethe made a low, animal sound in his throat and slapped his hands over his eyes. Ara mercilessly yanked them back down. The Dream changed one more time. Diane Giday’s corpse lay stinking and slippery on her living room couch.

"Stop it!" Leethe cried. "You’re making this up. It’s not real!"

"It’s real enough to prevent you from concentrating enough to leave the Dream or teleport away," Ara growled. The smell from Giday’s corpse burned the very air. "Even a slaver must have some conscience-or a sense of self-preservation. The monster that did this passed through your hands, Manager. Tell me what I need to know so I can find him."

Leethe had clapped his hands over his eyes again, but that wouldn’t block out the smell. "Just end it, woman, and I’ll tell you."

Ara snapped her fingers. The scene vanished, replaced by Ara’s pleasure garden. The soft tinkling of the fountain and pleasant birdsong contrasted almost ghoulishly with the horrible images that had been there only moments before. Kendi’s blindfold and earplugs evaporated. He blinked reproachfully at Ara and started to speak, then silenced himself under her heavy glare.

"The records, Manager Leethe," she said levelly. "And don’t even think about leaving the Dream and not returning. I’m very good at whispering, and I have your scent."

Leethe lowered his hands. His pudgy face was pale above the scarlet kimono. "I told you I’d find them for you, and I will."

Ara conjured a chair for him and he dropped heavily into it. Kendi perched on the lip of the fountain next to Ara. Ara wondered if he noticed how the dynamics of her relationship with Leethe had changed. They were on Ara’s turf now, and Leethe was sitting with his head lower than hers on a chair she had created. All of these were signs that Ara was in charge. She made a mental note to point this out to Kendi later as an example of Dream protocol.

Leethe closed his eyes, reaching out of the Dream to someone else-a records person, Ara assumed.

"I’ll need dates," Leethe said. "And names."

Ara gave him Cole and Dorna’s names and the date of their sale. Leethe opened his eyes.

"I thought you were looking for one person," he said. His tone was petulant.

"He has an accomplice," Ara told him. "Hurry it up."

Leethe shut his eyes again. A few moments later, he drew a deep breath and stood up. "Cole and Dorna Keller were both sold to one Mr. Barry Yaree, a human on the planet Trafalgar. He’s a legal coordinator there, and his Silent slaves provide communication among circuit judges because Trafalgar is a low-tech world that doesn’t allow artificial long-distance communication."

"And where can I find Mr. Barry Yaree?" Ara said.

"He usually creates a tropical beach for his turf," Leethe explained. He described it further, and as he spoke, a pattern began to form in Ara’s mind. Eventually she received enough of Leethe’s thoughts to find Yaree in the Dream.

"Thank you, Manager," she said when he was done.

Leethe vanished from his chair without further comment, leaving overlarge ripples and tears in his wake as a parting shot. Ara let the garden resettle before turning to Kendi.

"What was with the blindfold?" he demanded.

"There was no need for you to see it all again," Ara said.

"You don’t have the right," Kendi said levelly. "You’re not my mother."

"That’s correct. I’m your teacher. And it’s a teacher’s duty to prevent harm to her students, both in the Dream and out of it."

"You don’t blindfold me in the Dream and you don’t stop up my ears," Kendi said. The anger in his voice was clear. "I’m not a slave, and I have the right to make my own choices about what I see and hear. If you don’t think I should see something, then I’ll leave. Horses and slaves are blindfolded. People are not."

Ara opened her mouth to refute this, then snapped it shut. "Point," she conceded. "I’ll remember that next time."

Kendi looked surprised that she had given in. He nodded. "So what’s next?"

"We’re going to talk to Barry Yaree."

Barry Yaree happened to be in the Dream. He was a tall man, well over two meters, with an unruly shock of red-blond hair. Ara barely came up to the waist of his bathing suit. Behind them, a tranquil tropical sea lapped at a perfect white beach beneath a warm, benevolent sun.

"I remember those two," Yaree told them. His voice was oddly high and flute-like. "The girl was pliant enough, but her brother-what a lying little sack of trash. Lazy, mouthy. No matter how carefully we trained him, he couldn’t seem to get into the Dream. And he was always giving us headaches. Broke stuff, stole, kept trying to get the female slaves into bed. Finally one day he actually grabbed my wife’s rear end. I had the little shit beaten and then I sold him. He didn’t seem to care. I kept the sister around for another year or so, then got a good offer and sold her, too."

"He never got into the Dream?" Ara said. She was already developing a crick in her neck from looking so far up.

Yaree shook his shaggy head. "Not once. Went through a truckload of drugs and cost me a pretty set of credits, too."

That was strange, Ara mused. Cole must have gotten in later, then. Or had he been faking the fact that he couldn’t get in? "Did you change their names?" she asked.

Yaree nodded. "To Jack and Jill. I thought it fit."

"Who did you sell them to?"

"A private slave dealer on Traveler III," the woman said. She had improbably blond hair, dark eyebrows, and a body that was slowly going to seed. Her turf looked like the grand ballroom of a fairy tale castle. "I was actually a little sad to see him go."

"Despite what he did to the cat," Ara said.

"Well, nobody’s perfect." The woman shifted position on the throne she occupied. Her long blue dress, slit high up the side, revealed a fair amount of leg. "The little devil was insatiable, too."

"Sorry?" Ara said. Beside her, Kendi shifted uncomfortably.

"He wanted it morning, noon, and night," the woman said in a wistful voice. "Couldn’t even bend over to adjust my stockings without him popping up behind me, the cutie. Hung like a donkey, too. God, what a time I had with him."

"And still you sold him," Ara said, unsure whether to laugh or be sick. Kendi stared.

"Well, you can only take so much," she said. "I mean, the cat was one thing, but the third time he set the greenhouse on fire-well, enough was enough. If you see him again, tell him I said hello."

"Of course," Ara said faintly. "What did you change his name to, by the way?"

"Little Tadpole." The humanoid lizard stuck out a long tongue and licked its own eyes. "But I call all my new slaves that, and he may not remember it. I only had the little creep a couple weeks."

"Why is that?" Ara asked.

"He kept yanking off my daughter’s tail," the lizard said. "Thought it was the most hilarious thing. I punished him, but he didn’t seem to give a shit. And his discipline was null. Couldn’t even get the bastard to meditate for ten minutes. No wonder he was such a bargain. He ain’t trainable, you ask me."

"Who did you sell him to?"

Ara sighed as she and Kendi crossed the border into his Outback. They should leave the Dream long enough to take food and bathroom breaks, but Ara didn’t want to stop just yet, not when they had some good momentum going.

"He must have been lying," Kendi said as they walked over sand and stone. The walking was a concession to Kendi’s teleportation nausea. "All of his owners said Cole couldn’t reach the Dream, but he obviously did."

Ara nodded. "Cole couldn’t do what he’s been doing without a lot of practice. Sheer power can accomplish a lot, but it can only take you so far, and he’s shown a hell of a lot of skill. I’m willing to bet he lied about not being able to reach the Dream, then started hoarding the drugs from all the ‘extra practice’ his owners made him do so he’d have a handy supply for when he really went in."

The Outback sun lay hot and heavy on her back and Ara began to wonder how long this trail would go on. This set of drugs, her second, was starting to wear off, and she didn’t want to get a third hit-it would make her head-achy and out of sorts when she finally left the Dream. Her solid body was getting hungry, and the feeling was manifesting in her Dream body as well. Kendi was also looking tired and uncomfortable. It was growing difficult remaining civil to people who bought and sold Silent like cows or sheep. Still, she didn’t want to give up. Every moment it took to find the killer was another moment closer to the time when he would murder someone else.

The next person on the list of Cole’s owners was Betta Drew, a small, dark woman about as tall as Ara, though she was bone-thin and much older. Her hair was white and her teeth protruded. Her turf was a stark white room with three hard-backed chairs. The ladderback pressed uncomfortably against Ara’s spine, adding to her current discomfort. She was going to have to leave the Dream soon and give it up for the night. A glance at Kendi told her that he was remaining at her side by sheer will alone. She was tempted to tell him to leave, then decided not to. As he had pointed out, she was not his mother, and if his drugs wore off completely and he were yanked out of the Dream-well, being left flat on his back for a day or two would be a lesson he wouldn’t forget in a hurry and it would keep him out of trouble.

"That one!" Betta spat. "I’m sorry I ever laid eyes on him. Backtalker, mouthy, lazy. And a destructive streak. My dog disappeared a week after he arrived, and I’m sure he was responsible, though I can’t prove it. Worthless, too-couldn’t get into the Dream no matter how many drugs I gave him."

"Did you change his name when you bought him?" Ara asked. "I’ll need to know so I can keep tracking him."

"I always change their names," Betta said irritably. "Easier to keep them docile. Good psychology. All my slaves take my last name."

"And his first name?" Ara prompted. The headache was growing and her stomach growled. She would have to leave within the next few seconds. Kendi shifted uncomfortably on his chair.

"I named him after the very first slave I ever owned," Betta said. "Now there was a hard worker."

"The name?" Ara said, barely civil.

"Drew, of course," Betta said. "Jeren Drew."