Dreamer (10 page)

The apartment house was a block away from the wall. The neighborhood buildings, while in poor repair, were at least clean. Windows gleamed. No papers or other detritus clogged the gutters. Walls were cracked, but any loose bits of mortar had been cleared away. Window boxes made of scrap lumber sported flowers and herbs. People sat on porches, enjoying the cooling night air, and flute music floated from a window.

“Interesting,” Harenn murmured. “Inhabitants in the other neighborhoods we passed would not dare to be sitting outside in such a manner.”

Ara nodded in agreement as they arrived at the boy’s building. No one sat on the steps but the entryway door was locked. When Ara tried the old-fashioned nob, a speaker whirred to life.

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

Ara ignored it and tried the door again.

“Glory to the Unity. Please state your name and your business.”

“Can you get this open, Gretchen?” Ara asked.

“Probably,” Gretchen said. “But the gate guard is watching us.”

“Damn. Ben, can you get a list of residents for this building?” Ara recited the address.

“The directory lists eighteen,”
Ben replied.
“Do you want all of them?”

“Can you tell what floor the boy is on?”

“The first,”
Ben said promptly.
“I think you should know Kendi’s here and he’s biting his nails corn on the cob.”

“Glory to the Unity. Please state your name and your business.”

“What are the names of the first floor residents?” Ara said.

“Keeren and Jace Muhar, Nara Oliva, and Vidya and Sejal Dasa. Nara is an old lady. Keeren and Jace are listed as spouses. Vidya and Sejal are listed as mother and son.”

The boy was named Sejal, then. The Empress and her orders loomed in Ara’s mind. She may have to ensure the death of someone named Sejal. Ara faltered. She had never been easy with the idea of deciding whether this boy would live or die, and the fact that he now had a name and a mother made it even worse.

“Glory to the Unity. Please state your name and your business.”

Hunger rumbled in Ara’s stomach. Her legs ached, and she was bone tired. Suddenly the idea of seeing the boy—Sejal—up close was nothing but repellent.

“Let’s get out of here,” she said.

“Leave? But we’re so close,” Gretchen protested.

“I’m tired, I’m hungry, and the boy isn’t going anywhere,” Ara said with more firmness than she had intended. “The Unity won’t find him by tomorrow. We’ll come back later. Let’s go.”

Ara marched off, not waiting to see if Harenn and Gretchen followed. At the gate, she nodded once at the guard. “Glory. No one home,” she said without stopping to care about the transparent lie. And with that, Mother Adept Araceil strode swiftly back toward her ship.

Benjamin Rymar stood uncertainly outside Ara’s door. Kendi had been right—Mother Adept Araceil wasn’t quite herself. It wasn’t just that she had gone straight to her quarters without speaking to anyone after she, Harenn, and Gretchen returned from the city. Ben also knew Ara well enough to see the signs that something was bothering her—a certain tightness around the mouth, certain tense gestures—and these signs had shown up after her conference with the Empress. The problem was obviously something to do with the Silent, and Ben wasn’t Silent. It was therefore none of his business.

Of course it’s your business,
said a small inner voice.
You’re a member of the crew. Her problems have an impact on you.

But Ben shrugged the voice away. The Children of Irfan had problems and dealt with situations that the non-Silent couldn’t even comprehend. None of his business. That had been made abundantly clear to him from childhood.

So why was he now standing outside her door with the promise he had made to Kendi fresh in his mind?

Kendi. Ben closed his eyes. It hadn’t been easy avoiding Kendi aboard the ship. When Ben had been forced to go alone to Kendi’s quarters to gather the dermosprays, he’d been sweating bullets. He remembered the jolt he’d experienced when Kendi’s arm spasmed and the look of pain that had crossed Kendi’s face. He remembered the warmth of Kendi’s arm when he’d helped Kendi sit on the bed. He remembered words bubbling up and he remembered barely swallowing them in time. Kendi always took the tiniest mole hills and from them built mountains to rival Everest. It was bad enough Ben had said “maybe.” He was sure Kendi had gotten a lot of mileage out of that one by now.

So why had he said it?

Ben shook his head. That was easy enough to answer. Love. The two weeks Kendi had gone missing had been pure, unadulterated hell. Trish had had to pry Ben away from the consoles for food and rest, and he had taken risks hacking the nets that made him shake in retrospect. Once Kendi had been located, Ara ran paperwork and Ben lay alone on his single bed, feeling guilty that he was free and wondering what was happening to Kendi. Was he being beaten? Raped? Murdered?

Ben had barely slept. And then, when Kendi had walked into the foyer, looking pale and ashen, Ben had wanted to grab him and never let go. He had restrained himself just in time. It wouldn’t do any good. Their relationship wouldn’t work. Ben had let himself stay in it for too long as it was.

Ara’s door still stood in front of him, and Ben realized he was stalling. Firmly, he pressed the door chime.

“Who is it?” came Ara’s tired voice over the intercom.

“It’s me, Mother. Can I come in?”

The door slid open and Ben entered. As Captain and Mother Adept, Ara commanded quarters larger than anyone else’s, but, in contrast to Kendi’s spartan room, all available space was filled. Bookshelves were crammed with thousands of book disks. Two large desks, each with its own high-powered terminal, lined opposing walls. Someone had managed to squeeze a tiny galley off to one side. Rugs and weavings hid the gray ceramic walls and floor with bright colors and designs. A pair of easy chairs had been tucked into the corners, and the air was tinted with the sweet smell of lingering incense. Ara was seated at one of the desks. The terminal was active, but Ara had swiveled in her chair to face the door.

“Hi,” she said. “I was meaning to tell you—good work on the search today. We couldn’t have tracked Sejal without you.”

Ben shrugged and sat in one of the easy chairs. “When are you going to go get him?”

“Soon,” Ara replied, and turned back to her terminal.

“Mother,” Ben said, deciding just to plunge in and get it over with, “what’s bothering you? You haven’t been yourself lately.”

“It’s a tense situation. The Unity Silent are aware of the boy, and we need to move quickly tomorrow.” Ara tapped at the console. Numbers and text flashed by too quickly for Ben to read, but he got the impression it wasn’t anything important, that Ara just wanted to appear busy.

Ben switched tactics. “Kendi’s worried about you.”

“And I’m worried about him.” Ara blanked the screen and turned again. “Has he said anything to you about prison?”

“He won’t talk about it. I’ve tried once or twice, but he always changes the subject.”

“Keep trying, would you?”

Ben’s red eyebrows lowered. “This wouldn’t be a subtle attempt to get us back together, would it?”

“It’s not subtle.” Ara smoothed her purple tunic. “I worry about you, too, you know. It’s obvious to me you’ve been unhappy without him.”

“Mother—”

“And that’s another thing. It’s always
Mother
now. It sounds like you mean
Mother Adept.
Whatever happened to
Mom?”

Ben shrugged. “Everyone else calls you Mother. It’s just easier, I guess. People might think the only reason I’m here is because I’m your son.”

“Everyone on board knows you’re my son, Ben,” Ara chided gently. “They also know you’re one of the most talented people on this ship. Communications, forgery, hacking. And you have your pilot’s license now. I chose you for this crew because there isn’t anyone else who can do what you can.”

Except enter the Dream,
Ben thought. His eyes strayed for a moment to one of the small holograms on the desk behind his mother. The small round projector that formed the base was old and worn, older than Ben, in fact. It showed the head and shoulders of a man in his early twenties, a little younger than Ben. He had neatly-combed dark hair, smiling green eyes, and a dimple in his chin. On the base was inscribed “Benjamin Heller.” When Ben was little, he used to fantasize that Benjamin Heller was his father. He had been named for the man, after all. Ara had told him a few stories about Benjamin Heller, that he was handsome, laughed easily, and had a penchant for puns and practical jokes. Ben’s little-boy imagination had added to the picture. Benjamin Heller would be strong and caring, and he would swing Ben through the air or wrestle with him on the floor. He wouldn’t spend endless hours in a Dream trance or leave Ben with relatives while he tracked down more important people—Silent people—who had been enslaved on other planets. It was all just a fantasy, though. Benjamin Heller had died years before Ben’s implantation in Ara’s womb.

“Can we go back to
Mom?”
Ara asked. Her voice was almost pleading, and Ben couldn’t help a small smile.

“How about
Mother
in public and
Mom
in private?” he suggested.

“It’ll do.” Ara gave a small smile of her own, then got up and went over to the miniature galley. “Would you like some tea? We can talk about you and Kendi. You never did explain why you broke it off with him. Peggy-Sue, raise tap temperature to boiling.”

Ben opened his mouth to give an evasive answer, then closed it. She’d done it again—manipulated the conversation away from herself. Ben had seen her do it with her authority as Mother Adept. Now she did with her authority as a mother. Abruptly, Ben had had enough.

“I came in here to talk about you, Mom. Not me.”

Ara blinked, two tea mugs in either hand. “Well,
that
was...direct.”

“I want to know what’s bothering you, Moth—Mom. Was it something the Empress said?”

“No.”

“There—you lied again.”

“I did not.”

“Mom.”
Ben gave the word two exasperated syllables. “I have to agree with Kendi. If you’re holding back something important and something...happens to you, he won’t know everything he needs to.”

Ara silently handed him a steaming mug. It smelled of raspberries. “Strong with no sugar,” she said. “Just the way you like it.” She paused a moment, stirring her own tea. The spoon made a light clinking sound. Ben waited.

“It’s something I have to deal with,” she said finally. “No, don’t interrupt. You were right. I lied. It’s something I can’t bring myself to talk about yet.”

“Something about finding Sejal.” He took a hot, raspberry sip and set the mug down.

“Yes.”

An idea stole over Ben. “Is it that he’s really related to Kendi?”

“What?” Ara looked startled.

“Kendi thinks Sejal is a relative of his.”

“Oh no,” Ara groaned. “If I know Kendi, he’s already worked out how Sejal is related to him and where his relatives must be. Now what do we do?”

“Don’t try to change the subject. If the Empress didn’t mention Kendi’s relatives, what did she say?”

Ara blew on her tea.

“Mom. You’re going to have to tell us eventually. Why not now?”

“I might have to kill Sejal,” Ara said into her mug.

Ben stared. Ara drank, then cupped her hands around the tea mug as if they were cold.

“Kill him?” Ben said at last. “Why?”

“If, in my opinion, Sejal would, quote, ‘pose a threat to the Confederation,’“ Ara said quietly, “the Empress wants me to kill him.”

“She gave us an order like that?” Ben said incredulously. “What does she mean by ‘a threat’?”

“I’m not completely sure,” Ara said. “She left it up to me.”

“God.” Ben got up to pace the rug. “How could she order us to do something like that? What does she think we are?”

“She ordered me, Ben. Not you. Or anyone else.”

Ben stopped. “That’s why you’ve been so upset?”

“Yes.”

“God,” Ben repeated. “That’s cold-blooded of her. How could one boy with a freak ability threaten the entire Confederation?”

“If he possessed the right person or people at the right time, he could start a war, or assassinate an important person, or any number of things. Not to mention that if word of a Silent with the power to possess unwilling non-Silent gets out to the public, witch hunts will start all over the place. No one would be safe then.”

Ben was still pacing with agitation. “So the Empress chooses
you
to decide whether or not Sejal should die and then she says you have to pull the trigger, is that it? Who the hell does she think she is?”

“She thinks she’s Empress.”

Ben whirled on her, ready to make a sharp reply, when he noticed the tears standing in Ara’s eyes. Immediately he swallowed the remark and knelt by her chair to put an arm around her shoulders. She hesitated, then leaned her head against him. Ben remained very still. He had been an adult for several years now, but a handful of years didn’t erase a lifetime of expectations. Parents comforted their children, not the other way around.

“It’s all right, Mom,” he said softly. “All you have to do is decide that Sejal isn’t a threat and you’re off the hook.”

Ara was sniffling now, looking not at all like a firm, decisive Mother Adept. Anger rose in Ben’s chest. Kan maja Kalii might be the Empress and her word might be law, but Ara was Ben’s mother. In that moment, he would have socked Kalii on the jaw cheerfully and without hesitation.

“It isn’t that simple, Ben,” Ara said. “The Empress—and now I—have to think of literally countless lives. If I make a mistake and don’t...and I let Sejal live, thousands or even millions of people could die in his place. I’m afraid the Empress might be right, and I don’t know if I’ll be able to do what needs to be done.”

Ben didn’t know what to say to that, so he stayed quiet.

A moment later, Ara sat up and reached for a tissue to blow her nose. “Thanks, Ben. I feel better now.”