Dreamer (11 page)

“Do you want me to tell Kendi about...about this?” Ben asked hesitantly.

Ara shook her head. “It’s my job. I’ll do it tomorrow.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

PLANET RUST

The universe is unfair. We can merely hope it will be unfair in our favor.

—Ched-Balaar proverb

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.”